Princess of Players
by ultimatedramaqueen
Summary: There was more to Sathandra's identity than she had first believed. With destiny and a goddess meddling even before her birth, how wouldn't there be? A tale of how a young woman found her calling. [Set after Trickster's Queen] AlanxOC...maybe...haha...
1. Here's Looking at You, Kid

**Chapter 1: ****Here's Looking at You Kid**

Sathandra self-consciously pulled her hat lower trying to further conceal her face which was already masked from mid-forehead to cheekbone by a pair of Ray-Bans. She was out shopping with her mother who insisted that they needed separate tea sets for afternoons spent indoors and those spent outdoors. _I don't know why I even agreed to do this. Isn't it her fault in the first place that I can go out without being mobbed?_ She grumbled to herself.

Sathandra felt a tap on her arm and turned to see a saleslady smiling brightly like one of those Barbie dolls her mother liked to collect. (Well, it couldn't exactly be called collecting, because if it was then her mother would be a collector of practically anything and everything under the sun, including packs of tissue paper from the airplane!) "Excuse me, ma'am, would you like to take a closer look at these fine figurines," the saleslady asked, "They are made in France." Sathandra felt puzzled by the woman's statement until she realized that she had seemed to be staring at the glass cabinet filled with the figurines because of her shades, whenin fact she had been discreetly surveying the customers and other people in the shopping gallery to see whether they had discovered who she really was.

She quickly thought of an appropriate response that would keep the woman from being suspicious. "Oh, I think they are lovely. I've been trying to figure out whose particular design was used for the one at the top shelf. The style seems familiar."

"Ah yes. It's a masterpiece René Lalique. A very rare item. Lalique is often more mass produced, but there are only five of these in the world," the saleslady replied enthusiastically, certain that she had finally found a buyer for this extremely expensive piece of merchandise.

Sathandra felt like hitting her head on something, not excluding the saleslady's head. All she had wanted was for the saleslady to think that she was politely uninterested and was only window shopping. _Oh yeah_, she suddenly remembered, mentally whopping herself on the head, _people don't come here to window shop. When they see something, they buy it. Why in the world did her family have to make so much money?_ She wanted to just cry and melt into the floor.

As if all the gods had conspired against her, she suddenly heard the voice that made her horrible day worse than horrible.

"Yoohoo! Darling! Jamesina Judith! Over here!" All the heads in the place turned to stare at the woman who was causing this loud commotion. Sathandra imagined herself melting and fervently wished that she had suddenly turned into the Wicked Witch of the West so that it could truly be possible. _Definitely worse than horrible_, she thought. Then as if the gods had decided to lay the final blow upon her, the trademark of their jokes, she heard the start of those blasted murmurs. "Isn't Jamesina Judith the real name of Sathandra Westlake? I just watched the interview on the Entertainment Channel last night…" "That's right. I was wondering why it was so familiar." "I want an autograph." "You think she'll agree to have lunch with my grandson?" "Or mine?"

Sathandra decided then and there that her new idol and favourite character was the Wicked Witch of the West. _Even here! I mean these people are the insanely rich and they're still after me. I mean if they're so rich don't their sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons already have women to bear their children for them?_ Sathandra shuddered and _quickly_ walked to her mother's side. She took a firm hold on her mother's arm and pulled her to a brisk walk heading outside of the shopping area.

"Mother," she said reproachfully. "Please don't use that name in public. I'll agree to let you call me that at home if only you'll stop yelling my name out loud for all the world to hear," she murmured vehemently.

Katharine, her mother, looked aghast. "Why, my dear! Are you not proud of your name? It is wonderful, isn't it? It was my grandmother's name. She was named Jamesina James."

"Yes, I've heard about all of this already mother. You say it every time a moment like this comes up." Secretly Sathandra wondered what kind of woman would consent to becoming Mrs. Jamesina James. _I mean, come on, mother's grandfather's name is Arthur James. It's a normal name, but honestly his wife Jamesina was too in love with him to notice how it affected hers. Bleh! Love! When I get married…IF I get married…which most likely will not happen since I might end up like mother who has no romantic life whatsoever…IF I get married, I'll make sure I like how the man's name goes with mine. If I don't like it, I'll make him change it. Ha!_

"Dear, what are you thinking?" Sathandra jumped back from the surprise caused by her noticing her mother's face's sudden close proximity to hers. "Uh…nothing really, Mother. Only about love and how it can ruin a person's name. What's wrong?" Sathandra was alarmed. For a moment there her mother's face was a mask of pain that had gone smooth as soon as she noticed.

"Nothing really. Just tired." Sathandra could tell that her mother was forcing the cheerfulness again. It was as if some words just triggered certain emotions that her mother never seemed to have, because most people thought that Katharine Persis Johnson was a lucky woman who was never anything but bright and cheerful. Her mother never ticked until the word 'love' came up. _That_ was why Sathandra had a _very_ long mental list of what she expected from love and how she would deal with these things if the moment ever arose. One day, she decided, she would write a comedy about it.

Her chauffer-bodyguard was waiting outside with the car. Sathandra quickly towed her mother into the car, hoping to escape from being recognized and therefore mobbed…again.

As they were heading back home to their wonderful mansion, the chauffer Edmund addressed her mother through the rear-view mirror. "Madam, Your sister, Miss Dorothea has sent word to the mansion that the preparations are finished." Katharine nodded and answered, "Good. Have someone watch over Dorothea's house while Sathandra stays there. Make sure they are well-concealed so as not to attract attention," Sathandra looked at her mother in surprise, "and that they guard all the entrances and exits, including the windows and the chimney," Katharine finished. Edmund nodded in reply then moved his eyes to look at Sathandra. "Miss Sathandra, your fencing sword is in the blue duffel bag along with your wrist guards and your unstrung bow—"

"Remind me again _why_ you feel the need to bring those when you probably won't be using them for a whole month," Katharine interrupted. Sathandra rolled her eyes and answered, "Because! Hmph!" She turned away from her mother and told Edmund to continue.

The chauffer took it all in stride, already used to such exchanges between mother and daughter. He continued solemnly, "—and along with your training clothes and first aid kit—"

"First aid kit?" Her mother screeched. "Jamesina Judith, why do you need a first aid kit? Do not tell me that you will continue to do dangerous and rigorous training while you are spending time polishing your ladylike skills with your aunt!"

"Fine. I won't tell you," Sathandra answered, "But you can't make me leave my gear at home for a month. Gramps always said that if I neglect training for more than a week, I'll get out of shape and I'll start losing to Derrick in fencing, then I'll be forced to accept his dinner invitations!"

"What is wrong with accepting them?" Katharine asked coolly.

"Everything! He tries to get me to become his girlfriend so he can show me off to those no good good-for-nothings he calls friends."

"Surely, they're not as useless as you make them out to be!" Katharine said disbelievingly.

"Oh but they are, Mother. They're _men_," Sathandra answered with full belief in the validity of her reason.

"SOOO?"

"So…" She looked at her mother straight in the eye, "So…Isn't that reason enough?"

"I don't think so. Well at least in my book it isn't." Katharine replied steadily.

"Then isn't it reason enough that Gramps said I had to keep training."

"I don't believe he said that exactly. He left you to choose and merely strongly encouraged you to continue training." Katharine snapped open her purse, rummaging through its contents. "Oh where is that face mirror?" Sathandra pulled her mother's hand out of the purse and stuck in her own hand. She immediately withdrew it with the small item in her palm. She sighed, knowing that once her mother decided to change the subject, she had no heart to insist anymore. "Mother, just please let me do this. If not for me then for Gramps. It was important to him." Katharine looked away and gazed outside the window. Without turning her head she answered quietly, "Very well. Even if it already has been eleven years, I am not so heartless as to deny my daughter her joy in keeping alive her beloved grandfather's memory. Indeed he was more of a father to you than Stephen will ever be, but please try to do what your aunt tells you to. She only does this for your own good. If only she would consent to live with us, I would feel so much better."

Sathandra could barely stop the grin that was threatening to appear on her face. Keeping her voice under control she answered mildly, "Thank you, Mother." In her excitement, she did not notice the small smile on Katharine's lips.

After that they were silent for the whole trip. When the car finally stopped in front of the mansion, Sathandra sighed happily as she could finally relax. She stepped out of the car and took off her cap, letting her luxurious mahogany brown tresses cascade down her back. She also carelessly pushed her shades upwards to sit on her head like a tiara, revealing lovely bright green eyes that shone with golden specks in the light. Her beautiful face was further complemented by a classic aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, and many people would give anything to have her complexion, a light tan which made her look quite golden. But this was often the bane of her existence in her line of work; she was a little too popular and too envied for her looks, even among other actors. As far as she was concerned, she would gladly take up the plain Jane look any day. That way she could have peace and quiet and her mother would stop attempting to make her stop her fencing and such since she would be hopeless to work on anyway. But no such luck existed for her. Her mother was devastatingly beautiful as well, only she had auburn hair and she was quite freckled because of porcelain white skin that refused to tan. The green eyes with golden flecks were definitely a Westlake trait. Her grandfather Jarred Woodrow, alias Jarred Westlake, had eyes like those and so did her brother Jered and Aunt Dorothea. She did wonder where she got her golden skin though. _Nobody_ in the family had golden tan skin. Not her father, not her mother, not her brother, or aunt or grandfather.

"Ah! Tres magnifique!" Sathandra looked up into the eyes of Vivienne Larivière, her personal clothes designer. (Yes, she had a clothes designer. Her mother was a little too particular with her wardrobe. As if she couldn't choose nice clothes on her own.) "When I see you, I feel…" Vivienne moved her hands trying to find the right word. It was understandable since one could tell from her strong accent that English was not her first language. Vivienne inhaled deeply then exhaled, "inspired." Sathandra felt like gaping although she should have been used to it right now, Vivienne's loss for words that did not seem too difficult to remember just seemed a little too absurd. No offence to Vivienne of course. To say that she was Sathandra's designer was too much of an understatement most of the time. For all that Vivienne was a talented designer, she was just as old as Sathandra—twenty years of age. And since the famous Sathandra Westlake could not count on other people she knew to be her real friends she had struck up a close friendship with Vivienne. They were both very familiar with the other after being friends for nearly two years, but Sathandra still could not shake off the thought that Vivienne was a tad bit too forgetful and unmindful of the language spoken by most of the people around her. Not that Sathandra did not understand Vivienne when she wasn't speaking in English. The prep school she had attended had required French speaking classes.

But putting all that silliness away, Vivienne was a marvellous girl. Always bright and sunny, she declared daily that when she saw Sathandra or Katharine she was _inspired_. (Weird wasn't it. She seemed to say that word _everyday_ but still seemed to forget it every time she was trying to say it. But Sathandra had decided long ago to pay no attention to it since it seemed to be one of Vivienne's greatest joys—remembering the word, that is.) And most wonderfully, Vivienne was beautiful. No, Sathandra was not a heartless snob who only stuck with pretty people. She loved Vivienne's beauty because for once she felt normal. Among other people, she had always stood out, but not so with Vivienne. She was blond—an almost white blond—and blue eyed. Like a perfect Barbie only much prettier and she had incredibly fair skin to go with her light-colored looks. When Sathandra and Vivienne would go out together, people would often exclaim that they were seeing the princess of the day and the princess of the night—Vivienne was light-haired, light-skinned, light-eyed and Sathandra was dark-haired, tanned, and had darker eyes. Between the two, it was sometimes hard to decide who the prettier girl was. Sathandra's mother took pride in showing off her darling daughter as the loveliest girl in town, but Sathandra couldn't help but feel guilty because she was relieved every time someone declared that Vivienne was prettier than she was.

_But I am Sathandra Westlake__,_ she thought as she entered the mansion arm in arm with Vivienne,_ I am the Princess of Actors and Actresses, and that's what makes me different from Vivienne. I have a name to live up to because I am a Westlake_.

People believed that great things were in store for her. Why not? She was beautiful, multi-talented, educated, refined, and she was Jarred's granddaughter. To be a Westlake was to be Hollywood royalty, and Sathandra was royalty in every way. Even all her viewers and critics thought so too. She did not get into scandals, she did not drink and take drugs, she attended all functions with decorum. And yet how could someone be so perfect? _I am perfect_, Sathandra thought bitterly,_ on the outside. How can I be fully perfect anyway? My grandfather who was more like a father to me disappeared without a word, leaving me to my mother who never shows me how she really feels so that I can open up to her and my father who is barely at home and when he is I barely see him. My mother and father are practically only living under the same roof just so that the money doesn't leave the family. They don't even share a room! What kind of family is this. And Jered? Jered, he was the only one in the family I had left to talk to and he's gone. It's been a month and _they all _say that he eloped with some girl he must have met somewhere. Couldn't take the pressure of having to live behind the shadow of his princess sister. Why would they say such things. Jered is responsible and he would never do such a thing. He loves me and wouldn't ever leave without saying goodbye._ A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed. Vivienne who had been chatting away gaily was startled and apologized remorsefully, "I am sorry, _cheri_. Will you forgive me for what I said that made you cry?"

Sathandra was startled and pulled back from the arm of her friend. "Making me cry? Why, you didn't do anything wrong, Viv! I'm alright, you see."

Vivienne was not convinced. "No, there is something not right with you. I can feel it. You were like this since…Je—your brother disappear. The servants say you were like this when your granpa also disappear. You come out and tell Vivienne the truth. I will listen."

Sathandra sighed. "You keep on insisting that something is wrong with me. I'm fine, Viv," she just wanted Vivienne to stop asking, "Aren't you the one we should be worrying about? Jered's missing. And I don't see why you continue to attempt not saying his name even to his face. You're the one who didn't even tell him you loved him before he disappeared. Look at what happened. If you had, he probably wouldn't have run off with that other girl everyone's talking about!" Vivienne looked stricken, and Sathandra immediately regretted her words. In anger, she had hurt her best friend's feelings and lied about hers. Trying to correct her mistake, she placed her arm on Vivienne's elbow, "I did not mean it like that," she said hastily, "I just wanted to—" Vivienne shook her head. "No it is okay, _mon cheri_. You are right," she took a deep breath, "I did not tell him and it is too late. It is probably my fault that he went away. I was too pushy and clingy and I never even call him by his name. It is always 'you' or 'Sathandra's brother' or 'Mr. Johnson'. He probably hates me now." Vivienne started to sob quietly, and Sathandra in all her guilt could do nothing but put her arms around her heartbroken friend. "Shhh…It's alright. Nobody could hate you, you know. You're wonderful. You're so cheerful and helpful. You're kind and beautiful. He'd be a fool not to like you. And besides, I don't really think he ran off with another girl. He's just probably off somewhere earning his way in the world just to please you. I mean you know him, and I think he would do _anything_ for you." Vivienne's tears subsided a little and she said in between hiccups, "You really think (hic) so? (hic) He always (hic) said (hic) that out of all the girls (hic) he knows, he likes (hic) me and you only." Sathandra nodded and held her friend close. She would not let Vivienne see her cry, she could not.


	2. You Talkin' To Me

**Chapter 2: ****You Talkin' To Me**

As soon as Sathandra stepped out of the car, she was swept up into a tight hug that left her gasping for air.

"Oh my dear! I am so glad to see you." The petite woman stood looking up at her. Sathandra was quite tall and this lady was pretty short.

"Hello, Aunt Dorothea. I'm finally here," Sathandra answered with a small amused smile.

"Please," Aunt Dorothea made a dismissive gesture with her hand, "It's just Aunt Dory." Sathandra did wonder how such a woman ended up with the job of keeping her manners in check. Aunt Dory was _not_ like her mother _at all_. Whereas Katharine was tall, willowy, and elegant, Dorothea was small, petite, and gleefully enthusiastic about everything. It was just so strange. Aunt Dory would probably be better at teaching her to climb trees and ride horses then make sure she knew how to behave herself.

"Now, my dear, your things have already been arranged in your usual room, I made sure to place your blue duffel bag on the table." She winked. Sathandra shook her head. Her aunt was strange. She would be kind and mischievous right now but once Sathandra was settled she'd turn into the horrible tea instructor or such. Sometimes Sathandra wondered whether her aunt was bipolar or something.

"Sathandra, time to sleep," Aunt Dory said through the door.

"Alright, goodnight!" Sathandra answered. Once she was certain Aunt Dory had left, she jumped out of bed fully dressed in her training attire. Grabbing her big blue duffel, she slowly opened the window and gasped when a beam of light shot out from the bushes to reveal her face in the dark. Gasping, she quickly slammed the window shut and remembered that her mother had set up "sentries" to keep people out and also most likely to keep her in. Well, she'd just have to do it old school. She silently opened the door to her room and peeked out into the hall. _The coast is clear. Now why do I feel like I'm in a movie right now? Adventure! I think I've been a little too bored these past few days._

She had just slipped past her aunt's bedroom door when she heard a noise. Her aunt was coming out of the room. Sathandra panicked and grabbed the closest doorknob and shut herself into it. She blinked in the darkness and, holding her breath, slowly counted to twenty. While she was counting, her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness of the area she had shut herself in. Come to think of it, she had never seen a door this close to the stairs, unless her aunt had installed one after her last visit a month ago. But that would be something Aunt Dory would never do. It had taken her mother months just to convince Aunt Dory the kitchen desperately needed retiling. The house was part of the oldest original Westlake estates and Aunt Dory believed that changing it could bring bad luck. She had to eat out for a month because she thought that after retiling her kitchen she would encounter bad luck if she stepped into it. Honestly, Aunt Dory was very weird. But that was it, she was weird _and_ very predictable. This room shouldn't exist. _You're right._ Sathandra felt like her heart had jumped out of her body, her hair was standing on end. "Who's there?" A faint sound that reminded her of the tinkling of bells reached her ears and after a moment she realized that it was laughter. "Who are you? Why are you here?" Laughter again. _Ah…questions…one at a time, my pretty._ "Okay, fine," Sathandra fought to keep her voice from trembling, "Who are you and why is it so dark in here?" Laughter. _Actually, that's two questions, my dear._ Sathandra racked her brain for anything she had ever read about spectres and wondered whether it was possible to strangle one. Laughter. _I see, you have forgotten your fear. Very good, child. And since you please me so much, I have decided to answer your questions. _Suddenly the place was brightly illuminated that Sathandra yelped from the sudden pain in her eyes. The voice laughed. Sathandra looked to the source of the sound and saw an astonishingly beautiful woman. The tall lady had dark auburn hair and milky white skin. She had marvellously green eyes. Sathandra thought there was something familiar about them. She looked elegant and refined and _queenly_. Sathandra suppressed the urge to bow (She thought that it would be strange to curtsy in her leggings.).

"I," the woman said, "I am Tarseela, Goddess of Illusion and Mirrors," and finished with a flourish, nodding her head slightly as a queen would to her subject. Sathandra stared then after a speechless moment said, "Huh?" Tarseela gave a tinkly-bell laugh again. "Of all the things I'd ever think you would do, I never thought you'd actually say that. Such an amusing girl child you are; I should congratulate your mother for her excellent work. And as for the second question, why did you ask it? It is not dark in here." Sathandra's eyes went wide, and she was just silent. "Oh dear, have you gone into shock my dear? What a silly question for me to ask! If you were in shock you would not be able to answer; but then if I did not ask I wouldn't know whether you could. So my dear, are you in shock?" Tarseela's eyes widened into bright hopeful orbs. Sathandra, in her stupor, distantly wondered whether Tarseela's expression was one that was hoping she was in shock or one that was hoping she wasn't.

"Aha! I have it! You are in shock because of my goddessly grandeur. Very well, since I am a wonderful goddessly goddess, I shall lower my goddessly grandeur…that's my word for today you know…goddessly. Wonderful word, isn't it? Now where was I? Oh yes." With a dramatic snap of her fingers, the woman's brightness dimmed until she looked like a normal human. Until then Sathandra did not even notice that the woman was glowing a little too brightly for a normal human being. _She's a goddess! Am I dreaming? Well, of course, I'm dreaming! Hey, I can think again! What am I doing? What am I thinking?_ Sathandra unconsciously lifted up a hand and pinched her cheek, hard. _What's going on? Why am I not waking up?_ "Wake up, wake up," Sathandra said aloud and pinched harder. She winced then looked at Tarseela when the goddess started laughing again. "Hahaha…Such a wonderful child you are, just like your mother."

Sathandra's eyes grew dark. "I am not like my mother. She is miserable and knows it. I am not."

Tarseela eyed her speculatively. "Indeed you are not like her in that aspect," she said, "You're miserable and you _don't_ know it." Sathandra opened her mouth to protest then quickly shut it suddenly thinking, _Hey, why does she have to be right? Now that I think about it, I _am_ miserable. Wonderful!_ She thought sarcastically,_ I'll be just as loveless as mother._

"That's not true you know. Your mother does love someone. Only she sacrificed that happiness to do her duty," the goddess said as if reading her mind.

"Her duty? Oh you mean marry my father instead of the man she loved who most likely is still alive and now married to someone else. Is that why she's so miserable?"

"Oh _no_, my dear. It is not like that. Her duty was to me. I am her goddess, her patron."

"And why is that? And what do you mean by her duty is to you?" Sathandra asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why is what? That her duty is to me? Or why I'm her goddess and patron?"

Sathandra growled, "Both!"

"Oh you should have said so from the start. Well her duty is to me because I am her patron goddess. Why I'm her patron goddess? Well, in the Eastern Lands, where I am worshipped, I am also called the Goddess of Players. You know what that is, don't you? Players, I mean? You don't? Oh well, it figures. I did instruct your mother not to tell you anything until the time came."

"Wait. My mother is in on this…this whatever you call it? And what _is_ a player?"

"Actor, child. It means actor in the Eastern Lands."

"I'm going crazy you know. Imagining things like the Eastern Lands and that I'm talking to a goddess from that place."

"Oh but you aren't…well, not because of that. Come to think of it, nobody but me and a few of those I let in on this actually know this world exists, not even my brothers and sisters, who by the way are also gods and goddesses. Well, where was I before you interrupted me from answering your second question? Oh yes, I was standing right here ready to answer your next question! Lovely! Now, back to the question, what was it again? Oh yes, by saying her duty is to me, I mean that she has to listen to what I tell her to do. Well, she can actually choose to not listen but she did. What a wonderful girl she is! She gave up a lot to keep others from eventually dying."

"What are you talking about?" Sathandra was bewildered. There was so much that Tarseela had said that she could not understand. The goddess was confusing her with her strange talk.

"Aha! I knew from my goddessly intuition that you were going to ask that sooner or later. Here's my cue." Tarseela raised her arms dramatically and Sathandra tried to block the sudden flash of bright light with her arm.

"We're here!" Tarseela announced gaily. "Isn't this place just marvellously goddessly, goddessly marvellous, or what? Let me guess, it's what. Isn't it marvellous or what? Wait, let me rephrase that. It's marvellous, isn't it?"

Sathandra's arm returned to her side and she gasped. She stood at the top of a cliff. From there she could see lush forests filled with a plethora of wildlife and the endless expanse of clear cornflower blue skies. The air was so clear, she inhaled deeply. She could hear birdsongs and closed her eyes to listen to them. "It's beautiful," she murmured peacefully, still with her eyes closed. "It's too real to be a dream." She did not see how sharply Tarseela was observing her. "Yes," the goddess answered, "it's beautiful isn't it." Sathandra could hear the tinkling of bells in her voice. It was easy to hear them now that the goddess was not chattering endlessly in sentences that seemed difficult to understand. "I love this place. It is mine, but much has been lost long ago. I have sought to restore many things, but life is not so easily replaced. Jarred has been working hard indeed." The last line she said more to herself.

Sathandra came back to reality with a jolt. "Jarred? My grandfather?"

"Who? Oh Jarred? Let's see now…Jarred married whats-her-name…Sarah…they had Kat…and she had you. One, two, three generations. Yup! That Jarred's your grandfather!" Tarseela had returned to her strange self. "Now, where is that boy?"

_Boy?_ Sathandra thought, _Just how old is she?_

"Older than you can imagine, my pretty," Tarseela laughed gleefully. Sathandra was somehow reminded of Aunt Dory. And before she thought about it the words just came out. "You remind me of Aunt Dory when you laugh."

To Sathandra's surprise, Tarseela answered happily, "I do, don't I. Ah, little Dorykins. She's a sweet girl, a bit strange though."

Sathandra looked at her strangely. If Aunt Dory was a bit strange then what was Tarseela?

"Of course," the goddess continued, "they always said that Kat takes after me."

"Kat? You mean Mother? How would she take after you? It's not like you're related to…" Sathandra looked at the goddess in shock. Suddenly everything clicked into place. "She—I—you—me—we—" She couldn't find the right words to express her thoughts.

"Delightful isn't it? We're related, but of course you can call me Aunt E or T or whatever you wish to call me as long as I approve."

"Can I call you Gran?"

"Call me Gran?" Tarseela asked in dismay then she looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, no one has ever attempted to call me that, not even Kat—she calls me Ettmi. It will be interesting to play this role. I am after all the Goddess of Players. I accept! Gran it is!"

"Uh, Gran?"

"Yes, child?"

"Why does Mother call you Ettmi?"

"Oh," Tarseela looked delighted, "It's short for Extra-Terrestrial Task Mistress. She thought of that one. Interesting girl isn't she?"

"NO!" Sathandra exclaimed in shock. "Mother? Think of something like that? Maybe Aunt Dory, but certainly _not Mother_."

"Well, you don't think Dorykins got her habits from nowhere do you? Kat is older than her by five years; Dorykins worshipped her, still does. Don't tell me Kat has been acting strange all this time, acting the way Dorykins normally would. I told her to raise you well-roundedly!"

"Well, I am well-rounded. Though I do prefer fencing to sipping tea with the Knitting Society. Wait, so Aunt Dory is actually well-mannered and elegant? So that's why I thought she has bipolar disorder! She's trying to act like Mother isn't she when she really isn't like that? But why?"

Tarseela did not answer but asked with curiosity evident on her face. "What exactly is your mother's stand on your fighting?"

"She freaks out and tells me that she only allows me to continue because it made Gramps happy. Speaking of Gramps…can I see him? Please?" Sathandra started to beg like a cute puppy—with the cute puppy-dog eyes and all.

Tarseela, amazingly, did not seem affected. "There will be a time for that later on. You've gone without seeing him for eleven years; surely you can wait a little more. And speaking of your mother's stand on that obsession of yours…"

Sathandra sighed dejectedly, knowing that the goddess would not concede. "What about it?"

Tarseela smiled happily. "I knew it; you're just like my pretty Kat!"

"You have a cat?" Sathandra asked.

Tarseela looked slightly frustrated. "No! I meant that you're just like your mother. She had an affinity for the fighting arts and thought that if she saw a teapot, she'd well be on her way to the Black God."

"Mother? Your bluffing, Gran! And who's the Black God."

"I'm not bluffing and the Black God rules the Realms of the Dead and is my second favorite brother next to Kyprioth the Trickster who is patron god of a realm called the Copper Isles."

"Oh…but mother isn't like that."

"And I thought it would be hard for her to resist teaching you how to climb trees and steal horses."

"That's more of what I think Aunt Dory would do?"

"Dorykins? Nope, not possible. She'd probably sooner teach you the art of drinking tea than teach you to steal a cat. Now Kat, she'll teach you to steal a horse and get away with it," Tarseela said proudly. Sathandra did not know whether to pull her hair out or hit her head on a rock. "No no! You've got it wrong. Mother isn't like that!"

"And what's so bad about it if she is?" Tarseela asked calmly.

"Then that means that…that I've been missing a great part of my life." Sathandra looked devastated. "Mother should be wonderful the way you say she is but she isn't like that with me. She's always pushing me this way and that, trying to get me to do this and do that when I don't want to."

Tarseela laughed. Sathandra glared. "What is so funny, Gran?"

Tarseela laughed harder. She shook her head and suppressed her laughter—barely. "You're just like your mother and she knows it. It used to be like that with her too. Everyone always had to be stern with her or she wouldn't do the things she didn't like and they had to strike up agreements with her just to keep her from climbing too much trees and stealing too many cats, horses, and whatnot. She once put a frog in her mother's slipper. The poor woman had hysterics. Oh, haha…haha…" She had lost control over her laughter again.

"But why does Aunt Dory act like Mother and Mother like Aunt Dory?"

"That you should ask them but I think it has something to do with the fact that Dorykins, with the way she _really_ thinks, is incapable of loving."

Then Sathandra remembered all those nights she lay staring up at her bedroom ceiling wondering why it seemed like her mother did not love her or anyone else for that matter. But there were those times when the pain in her face showed; there had been something there. _ Could it be? She suppressed her feelings by acting like Aunt Dory, and Aunt Dory acts like her because she is trying to make up for the loss of her sister's brightness. But why?_ Why? Why? Sathandra wanted to know why but Tarseela could not answer, not because she did not know at all why—though she could only guess the reasons—but because it was not her place to tell…yet. It was not yet time. Soon. Dear Kat would be rewarded for her patience and suffering and devotion. Soon, a family would be reunited. Destiny had already spoken.


	3. Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates

**Chapter 3:**** Life is Like a Box of Chocolates**

The steady beat of rainfall was disturbed by the sound of mud splattering in the wake of iron-shod hooves as a full company of horsemen trotted into a clearing large enough to serve as a camp. Two riders positioned at the front of the riding broke off from the large swarm of men. Slowly leading their horses in a slow trot, the two riders carefully encircled the entire camp from opposite ends, blue and purple fire flaring from the tips of their fingers. The rain that had relentlessly beaten down upon the riders suddenly seemed to disappear many feet above the company of men who sat or stood within the circle formed by the two Gifted riders.

Alan of Pirate's Swoop sighed heavily in relief as he shed his sopping cloak and settled onto one of the many mats that had been rolled out around the fire that the other men had built. Beside him, his companion who had encircled the camp with the blue fire groaned as he settled down on the same mat. "Another day like this and I'll start to regret ever thinking of taking up my shield," Alan's friend growled. Alan smiled in slight amusement; if he had not felt as exhausted himself he would have laughed out loud. "Careful what you say, Liam. You may just find yourself confined behind a desk if your father overhears."

Prince Liam of Conté grimaced at the thought and said with less vehemence, "Thank the gods Roald has a son already and another babe is on the way! And thank the gods for my wonderful mother who never lets my father get his way every time!"

Alan laughed. "It _is_ quite strange that your father would be more reluctant to send you out. But I suppose he's become quite paranoid in his royal perch. What with the Immortals' and Scanran War."

Liam groaned again. "Don't remind me. I'm third in line to the throne after my dear brother and his son, Jaden, and I'm not allowed to leave the city without an armed escort, even if it _is_ First Company of the King's Own. My father was _heir_ to the throne and he was at the battle front during the Tusaine War. Do you realize the injustice of it all?"

"Well, I'm not you. I'm merely a young untried knight with no experience and who's just gotten his shield little more than a year ago," Alan said unsympathetically.

Liam glared at his friend and said, "You may have been knighted a year after me, but you are still one year my senior when it comes to age; you were squire to the Knight Commander of the King's Own, who is known as one of the more prominent field knights; _and_ you're the son of the Lioness. And let's not forget that the reason _why_ you're here in the first place is because First Company wouldn't even _be_ here if you weren't Knight Captain Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop and Lord of All-that-is-lucky! Inexperienced my foot! If you're untried, I'm a dancing bear."

Alan chuckled and gave Liam a pat on the back. "Well, if you look at the bright side, at least you didn't have to take flying lessons from Uncle Raoul."

Liam continued to glare. "I would have preferred that to sitting next to Earl Hamrath's bed whenever he would explode into another coughing fit, no offence to his lordship."

Alan gaped at his friend. "You would rather take _flying lessons_ from the _Giantkiller_? You've gone daft!" Only three squires had ever had the "honor" of receiving flying lessons—the word for jousting when learning from Raoul due to its literal nature—from the Knight Commander himself: Raoul's first squire Sir Douglass of Veldine, Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, and Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop. Though the three were some of the best at jousting in the realm, none of them thought about their flying days whenever they could help it. Alan was beginning to realize just how desperate Liam was to receive fieldwork; he would rather joust with Raoul than keep his head on his shoulders with Earl Hamrath of King's Reach. Now _that_ was insane and insanity was supposed to run in Alan's family, seeing how they produced the Lioness, though he'd never admit it to his mother's face.

Liam suddenly started chuckling. "Now how in Mithros' name did we ever get to this topic? We're both here in—out of the rain and—"

"Your Highness! Sir Alan!" The two knights were interrupted by a sentry running into camp out of breath.

"What is it, Shamus?" Alan asked, suddenly very much like a Captain of First Company.

"A man…" he gasped, "In the woods...He's unconscious, sir…No sign of any one else…"

Alan stood up, barely suppressing a wince. Liam stood up to follow and Alan shook his head. "It would be better if you remained to keep the men under supervision."

Liam sighed, knowing what Alan was really saying. He was a prince and there were just things a prince couldn't do especially one who was third in line to the throne of Tortall.

"Show me where this man is. Call Vanyl and tell him to get eight men, including himself." Shamus bowed and ran to call the other men.

Alan waited anxiously. The rain was pouring down relentlessly and this man could be wounded and dying. The sooner they got to him, the better.

Alan looked up his hand still pressed against the man's neck. "He's alive, but barely. Shamus, run back to camp and tell the healers to get a tent ready. Tell them it's probably a case of hypothermia. They'll know what to do." As the man ran off to do as he was bid, Alan turned to rest of his party. "We need to fasten a stretcher to carry him back. I can probably keep him from freezing to death with my Gift; it would be dangerous to do anything more at this point without a more thorough examination."

As they returned to the camp, Alan looked up to see that a tent had already been set up. The unconscious man was set down on a cot in the tent as the healers scrambled to rid the man of his clothes. After a few minutes, they confirmed that it was indeed hypothermia, and that if he had been out there any longer, he would be dead in less than an hour. Luckily the heating charm Alan had put upon the man had kept death at bay.

Alan grumbled as he sat back down next to Liam near the fire. "They say that my spell helped to keep his blood from freezing up then when I offer to help, they tell me to back off. Say that the healers can take care of it. I'm a healer too; it _is _my responsibility to ensure that anyone within the camp is in good health…" He continued to mumble silent curses under his breath until Liam gave him a hard hit to the back of his head.

"You may be Gifted and a healer at that but you can't do everything on your own. Leave the healers to think that they're needed as well. You have your place and they have theirs. See, look at me. Am I complaining?" Alan looked at him with his brows still furrowed. "Okay so don't answer that. Gods, Alan! What would your mother say if she were here to see this?"

The deep line along Alan's forehead lessened, and he answered evenly, "She'd be grumbling along with me saying the same thing I was. And I quote something she always used to say. 'As a knight and a healer it is my duty to save the lives of as many people as I can because there are even more out there that I can't save. There are many times when I have no other choice but to take lives and there is no other way to redeem myself but to save others.' If Ma were here, those healers would be scampering away like little mice under the intense glare of a dangerous feline."

Liam was ready to protest when he thought again and conceded. "You're right," he said thoughtfully, "I wonder if Aunt Alanna will teach me how she does that. She's amazing! She's practically the only one who can defy Father and get away with it."

Alan snorted. "Well what do think would happen to Uncle Jon if he didn't let her get away with it? He'd most probably have Da, Uncle Numy, Uncle Gary, Uncle Raoul, Aunt Buri, _and_ Aunt Thayet breathing fire down his neck."

Liam sighed. "Having scary friends is bliss—that is when they're siding with you. Why are all the great men and women born in our parents' generation? They didn't leave us any of the fun."

Alan laughed, having forgotten his sulkiness already. "We'll just have to make great men and women in our generation then. Who said we can't be just as strange as they are?"

Liam laughed along.

"Sir Alan." The young knight stirred when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. "Sir Alan." Alan shot up from his bedroll. "Huh! What is it? Is there something wrong? Did one of the horses—He's awake isn't he?" Alan realized the reason the healer had called him away from the shores of sleep.

The healer nodded and answered, "He woke up just a while ago and asked to see the man in charge. I insisted that he rest and ask for you again in the morning but he was insistent and couldn't be coaxed to take the sleeping draught."

"It's alright, I'm awake anyways," Alan stood up and pulled on his boots and tunic. "Lead the way."

The healer drew back the tent flap and Alan nearly drew back when a pair of green eyes with golden flecks fixed their gaze onto him. _Mithros!_ He thought_, those eyes!_ Before he thought he muttered, "Westlake." The man's stare grew even more intense and a hoarse voice said, "What did you just say?" Alan was startled and realized that the unknown man had spoken. "Uh…forgive me," he quickly amended, realizing that he may have unknowingly offended the man, "I meant no offence. I merely spoke before thinking. Your eyes just reminded me of someone."

"Westlake, you said? How do you know that name?" The man asked curiously. There was no accusation in his eyes, only curiosity and slight bewilderment. Judging from the clothes the man had been wearing when they found him, he should be more than just a little bewildered; because he was certainly very far away from home. Nobody in the Eastern Lands would dress in such a way.

"Know the name Westlake? Who doesn't?" Then realizing that what he said may have sounded arrogant to the man, he immediately added, "That is, it is a very well-known name along these parts."

"And where exactly is 'along these parts'?" The man asked. Alan nearly gaped. The man truly did not know where they were. Was it a case of amnesia or maybe insanity…

"The forests surrounding Fief Goldenlake near the border of the Grand Duchy of Westlake," he answered. The man's eyes widened slightly but no more and his face did not give so much as a flash of any emotion but calm. This man had training in keeping his expression distantly pleasant and if he remembered correctly a certain duke by the name of Westlake often had the same expression only more controlled; no inner emotion would leak out from even his eyes.

Slowly adjusting his Sight (he had a bit of it but only enough to spot lies and certain magics), he asked, "Who are you?"

The young man answered readily, "I am Jered Johnson, sometimes called Jered Westlake because of my sister and grandfather." Alan's eyebrows rose. The man had told the truth. Who was he? And what was his relation to Jarred of Westlake?

"And exactly how old are you?" Alan asked as if he wasn't surprised by Jered's answer.

Jered answered, "Twenty-one."

Truth again.

Alan quickly calculated mentally. This man was just the right age to be Duke Jarred's grandson. He had heard that there were once rumors of Duke Jarred having a daughter. And if those rumors had indeed been true, this man could be related to the Grand Duke.

"Have you ever heard of Jarred of Westlake?" Alan asked.

Jered shrugged. "Jarred _of_ Westlake? No. But my grandfather was named Jarred Westlake, actually Jarred Woodrow, but everyone called him Jarred Westlake, even my mother."

"Your mother? And forgive me for asking but I must ask? _Was_ called?" Alan exclaimed.

"Yes, he disappeared about eleven years ago, so…." Jered could not seem to continue and looked slightly lost in thought, then he switched to another topic. "But what does this have to do with why I am here…Sir…"

"Alan. Alan of Pirate's Swoop."

"Sir Alan of Pirates Swoop. What do all if your inquiries have to do with my being here and why do you keep asking about Westlake…Sir?"

Alan realized that he had found this man odd not only because of the clothes and the ignorance but also because of the way he somehow spoke with authority, as if he wasn't used to bowing down to others, as if he was a noble himself and had never needed to address others so formally when speaking informally.

"Great, now I feel like I'm in one of Cass's movies," he muttered. "It's all a dream. It's all a dream. When I wake up, I'll be back home…"

"Cassis moo-vees, Master Jered? I assure you that this is no dream. You are here in the healer's tent of First Company of the King's Own." Alan was thinking to himself, _What a strange man! It's as if he's from an entirely different world! And what does he mean by cassis moo-vees? A strange man indeed, though he does remind me a little of Duke Jarred. The old duke is quite eccentric himself._ Little did Alan know that he had hit more than quite close to the truth.

"You can't honestly expect me to ride with you to who knows where just because you found me out there!" Jered protested as he was being led towards a spare horse. Alan had to keep his eye from twitching in irritation, the longer they lingered the less chances they had of getting back to Corus in time for Midwinter.

"Well, it's either you come with us or we leave you to whatever human-eating creatures are out there," Liam answered evenly.

Jered immediately jumped onto the horse without second thought. Alan was more than a little surprised to notice that he did it with the ease of long practice, and he noticed that Liam had noticed as well.

Pushing his thoughts aside to the back of his mind, he leaped onto his mare, Silvermoon, "Mount up," he yelled out. The Own did as he ordered. His mouth twitched in amusement when he heard Jered mutter, "Is there even such a thing as mounting down?" Alan chose not to answer, knowing that he had wondered the same thing as a page, then as a squire and even now as a knight.


	4. Toto, I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas

**Chapter 4: ****Toto, I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore**

"Where are we going, Gran?" Sathandra asked her "goddessly" great-grandmother. Tarseela was grasping her hand tightly and had her in tow as they seemed to float above vast areas of forest and occasionally civilization. The goddess just laughed and said cryptically, "To Destiny." Sathandra imagined that if her hand had not been in such a tight grasp she would heave crossed her arms and started sulking. How she felt like a child being denied the knowledge of some great surprise!

"Just great!" Sathandra muttered to herself. "I suddenly decide to trust this crazy woman who claims to be my long-lost great-grandmother who just happens to be the goddess of all who are crazy and who knows what more. Now look where I've found myself—in the middle of nowhere. And now…I have to build myself a fire and light it! How am I supposed to—Aw…Sh…!" She started muttering curses in her head as she sucked on her thumb.

After exhausting her supply of curses which took quite a while, she finally huffed and dropped to the forest floor. "Now what? She could have at least left me with a box of matches or a lighter, but no. She had to give me a pair of green-tinted contact lenses. They're not only guaranteed to hide the gold in my eyes without significantly altering my appearance but they're also spelled to stay well-lubricated and germ-free. Wow! But where are the matches! I'm not supposed to show people that my eyes have golden flecks or people will know that I'm related to my grandfather and we can't have that because _she_ doesn't want to have _her _plans ruined. So here I am, stuck with a big blue duffel bag, myself, and no matches. Next thing you know, it's gonna start raining." A streak of bright light lit up the sky followed by a loud peal of thunder. Sathandra screamed not from fright but from extreme frustration. "Darn you luck! Where are you when I need you?" After finally tossing away the idea to pull her hair out from the roots just to add to the effect, Sathandra sighed heavily. "Trust me to say the one thing I shouldn't say. My Sathandra! What a smart person you are!" The rain started pouring down, and Sathandra yelped and grabbed her bag, running for cover under one of the big trees with heavier shade.

"Da, explain to me again why we have to go to Queensleeve? I know that we both don't like going there during Trade Season," Gisel sulkily said as the cart her father was driving hit another particularly large bump in the road. Dameyon smiled patiently at his only daughter and answered, "Sel, it's the only time of the year that the good Players all gather together."

"But Da!" Gisel whined in her high ten-year old voice, "We have plenty of other people here who would do."

"Not someone with enough skill to do us justice," Dameyon countered seriously.

Gisel, finding no other retort, was silent for a few moments then decided quite resolutely that she refused to ever get married and have children, so that she would never leave the clan or her work as clan mage. Dameyon smiled indulgently at his daughter's childish comment and refrained from saying anything. After Gisel's stubborn announcement of eternal spinsterhood, they were both silent as the yells and loud comments from others in the caravan flitted around them.

Dameyon inwardly frowned as he thought of their inevitable journey to the capital of Westlake because they were in need of Players. Besides Stelli who had decided to care for her young ones—four of them in all—there was also Fahrir who had finally retired after the seventy or so years of appearing on stage—though many could not believe it, thinking he was still in his fifties due to his young appearance. Also missing were Ladar and Ladir the talented and acrobatic twins who had enthusiastically agreed to apprentice themselves to the Radan Clan, the warrior clan, so that they could bring back their improved fighting skills to their own Sefir Clan after a year of training. It was during Trade Season that all seven clans or most of the six visible clans gathered at Queensleeve to trade secrets and hire people to work for each of their groups.

"Da," Gisel pulled lightly on his sleeve, "the sun is setting soon, looks like there'll be rain." Dameyon shook himself from his thoughts, looked up at the sky, and tugged the reins in a different direction causing the horses to veer to the side and into a clearing at the side of the road. Quickly stepping down, he held out his arms to help his daughter get down, not bothering to say something to the others around him because he knew that they already knew what to do and were probably already in the process of setting up camp.

"Ter'Sefir!" came a shout from Dameyon's right. He turned to face the source of the sound and was surprised to see one of the guards, Leddir, running towards him with a look of absolute bewilderment on his face. Leddir's popular nickname was Stoneface and that was what worried Dameyon. He quickly stood up from his seat by the fire and asked worriedly, "What is wrong, Leddir? You seem not yourself this moment. Are—"

"Come quick Ter'Sefir. You too Mir'Sefir," he said to Gisel. The two quickly followed, curiosity propelling them. The sun had not yet fully sunk below the horizon and there was still daylight to see by. Leddir stopped walking just at the edge of the protective shield Gisel and the other clan mages had set around the camp. A few feet away a figure was slumped against a tree. The person did not seem to be moving or to have noticed their presence. "Gisel," Dameyon put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. She looked up to face him and answered his unspoken question. "There is no ill-will or malevolent force in his presence." Dameyon nodded. He had thought so too. They all cautiously stepped toward the still body—Leddir at the lead followed by Dameyon then Gisel. Dameyon heard Leddir's gasp before hearing his own gasp and Gisel's as well. The person leaning against the tree was not a man but a woman—a _very_ beautiful young woman. Her hair was a glistening dark reddish brown and her skin was practically golden. Leddir bent over to gently prod the woman's arm. She stirred and opened her eyes slightly. Then with a movement they could barely follow she had Leddir in a stranglehold, with his arm pinned behind him. Leddir struggled but the most amazing thing happened—he could not get free. The woman seemed impossibly strong. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want from me?" Dameyon opened his mouth to speak but Gisel beat him to it. "We do not seek to harm you in any way. We were merely curious because you were in the vicinity of our camp. See," Gisel held her arms out wide, "Do I look like I would want to hurt you?"

The beautiful woman did not seem satisfied and continued to glare at them with suspicion. "You could be acting innocent. I know children younger than you who have done it most convincingly." Gisel smiled and answered, "If we had intended to harm you in the first place, you'd already be dead. Do you think we are the only ones in our camp? We are traveling with a whole caravan of people, and we're performers not bandits."

The stranger's suspicion seemed to lessen. "Performers? You mean Players?" Gisel nodded. The woman let go of Leddir and he stumbled back to his two companions. "Sorry about that," the woman apologized, then she smiled at him. Gisel saw his dazed look and knew exactly why he nodded so easily. No one could say no to that smile. It was like seeing a goddess only in human form.

Sathandra knew the moment she heard that the three before her were Players that she had overreacted and the poor fellow she had nearly strangled was probably a supplicant of her great-grandmother. She definitely did not like the sheepish feeling that was slowly creeping upon her and released her most dazzling smile upon the man, hoping that it would work and he would let bygones be bygones. It seemed to work because not only did the man seem to forgive her but also the young girl and the older man standing quietly beside the other two. She waved at them, hoping to escape more embarrassment, walking straight ahead and right past them. "Well, it was nice meeting you."

"Wait! We—" The young girl was about to go after her when she stopped in horror. Sathandra stopped as well. She could not understand the cause for the girl's expression, but when the two men suddenly wore the same horrified expressions, she assumed that she had just done something that would be misconstrued as one of their socio-cultural taboos.

Besides feeling quite morbidly amused in the terror that was so obvious in the three that stood before her, _What! They say I'm my mother's daughter,_ she thought, Sathandra was feeling a certain degree of discomfort due to the unwavering stares directed at her and partly also due to the contact lenses her divine relative had insisted she wear for as long as she was in public.

Sathandra was just about to break the silence when the young girl whose name she still did not know finally asked in a hesitant voice, "How? How did you step in?"

"What?" Sathandra could not believe her ears. Here she had thought they would be insulted by her ignorance, and instead they were starting to look at her with interest.

"You stepped into the barrier. Only a few people can do that. Either you are of our clan or are of the Goldeneyes. The only known member of the Goldeneyes is His Grace, though there were rumors of a daughter; you look to young to be that one though. You are not of our clan; we can tell when someone is of our clan. Who are you and how did you cross the barrier?"

Dumbfounded could not have expressed Sathandra's state of mind but she desperately pulled all her thoughts back from their disarray and tried to make some sense of all the gibberish the young girl was spouting. _Come to think of it, I had a fuzzy, tingly feeling a step back. I wonder._ Sathandra took a step forward in the direction she had come from and found that she was once more surrounded by that ticklish feeling that she had unconsciously dismissed at first as the effects of static electricity that occurred because of the rain. _Wait a minute. Where is the rain? I'm not getting wet and it's raining!_

"Ehem…"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry, I was lost in thought." _Whew! Being so used to not showing any expressions is a blessing at times like these. Gran, you better be watching 'coz I'm gonna show you what acting is all about._ Aloud she said, "Please be at ease. I definitely mean no harm, although I can't prove it at the moment, but I cannot tell you how I did that just yet because it will cause me to break a promise, which may cause many to get hurt. So I'm sorry. I can't."

The little girl looked up at the man—probably her father—and they both nodded at each other, somehow communicating through their eyes. The man spoke. "Very well, we will not press you further at the moment; you are welcome to share our fire and to partake of our provisions. I am Dameyon of the Sefir Clan, this is my daughter Gisel, and this is Leddir, one of our clan. He was the one who found you." As Dameyon introduced himself and his companions, they each stepped forward to make an extravagant bow.

_Players, indeed! Well now__ it's my turn. _ Sathandra smiled brightly and said, "My name is Cassandra West," she said using one of her favorite aliases, "I would be honored, Dameyon of the Sefir Clan," Sathandra bowed deeply. (She was not in a skirt, so she assumed it would be better to bow instead.) Dameyon smiled back and led the way back to the warm campfires. As Sathandra stepped into the camp, she thought, _Woah! This must be the whole clan!_ As if he had the ability to read her thoughts, Dameyon said, "This is not all of our clan. Only a fourth came with us because it would have been too troublesome if everyone had come. We may be one of the smallest clans of Players, but we are still a lot. As it is, those traveling with me right now are not less than a hundred. We need to bring this many just so we can continue to put up performances whenever we enter large towns and villages."

"WOW!" It was not difficult to look awestruck. It was like walking into one of those stories found only in history books. Dameyon grinned. "Indeed. I've never heard anyone use an expression quite like that one before but it does sum it all up. Wow! I like the sound of that. Wow! Sel, what do you think about making a performance based on that word? I have an idea already. Now to think of the casting…" Sathandra shook her head, smiling slightly.

"Please forgive my father for his behavior, Mistress West. He tends to go off into his own world when he gets a good idea. His ideas are _very_ good though. Truly!"

Sathandra nodded then she noticed the eyes. She had to keep herself from squirming from the curious gazes that followed her. The people started to gather around them and the voices that were at first soft turned audible.

"Oh! Lemme see. Lemme see. I wanna see the pretty lady!"

"What do ya mean pretty lady? That's not a pretty lady that woman is bea-u-ti-ful, no lovely."

"Are you blind? That is no lovely lady there. That's a goddess come to greet us! Quick bow! Divine blessings will be showered upon us!"

To Sathandra's embarrassment, there were people who actually bowed and curtseyed. _What is with these people? This is kind of freaky. Help! They're actually bowing. Mom! They're actually bowing to me!_

Dameyon did not seem to notice the looks his people were giving her, and he continued to walk at a brisk pace towards the center of the big camp. _The man is truly exceptional_, Sathandra thought, _he's the only one not affected by my presence besides his daughter._

Finally they reached their destination around a campfire that was seemingly at the very heart of the camp. Taking her seat, Sathandra sighed as she felt the cold melting away.

Suddenly someone lightly tugged on her sleeve. Sathandra looked down to see a pair of big blue eyes staring back at her. Gisel asked shyly and with awe, "Are you really a goddess, Mistress West—I mean Your Ladyship?"

_Okay. Scratch that. That man is the only one not affected by my presence, _Sathandra thought. Out loud, she replied to the young girl, "Of course not, my dear. If I were a goddess, I'd be very busy making sure everyone is behaving. You don't see me doing that, do you?" She gestured around trying to prove her point. Unfortunately, the people were silently looking at her, some even still bowing or curtseying.

"See. Everyone is behaving. You must really be a goddess!" was the reply in that brave young voice.

Sathandra shook her head. "If I were a goddess, then which goddess would I be anyway?"

To her surprise the girl looked like she was actually thinking _really_ hard about it. Finally, "You can't be the Great Mother Goddess because they say she is white skinned. Not the Graveyard Hag. _Definitely_ not. Kidunka? No. You don't look like a snake.HaHH" Sathandra suppressed a laugh, though she had to ask Gran about that. Who was Kidunka? She was probably some scary-looking goddess. "Ah! There are a lot of goddesses but if you narrow it down, that leaves only two. The Trickster Goddesses."

"The Trickster Goddesses?" Sathandra asked.

"Yes, they aren't very well-known among other folk besides us and some others because they say it isn't easy to worship them. Kyprioth is the Trickster God and is patron of the Copper Isles. The raka, dark skinned people—but not as dark as some Carthakis— are his. He has two sisters who follow in his footsteps. The Jaguar Goddess, his twin sister, and Tarseela, the Keeper of Knowledge. We know of them and do not fear to talk about them because we are Tarseela's people. She is the patron god of Players, though most do not know that and only think that she is the goddess of illusions and mirrors and therefore a minor goddess. Oh wait. What am I saying? I'm talking too much again."

"No. It's fine. Go on. I'm listening," Sathandra urged.

Gisel smiled uncertainly. "Well, usually we don't tell outsiders about these things because well they're outsiders and the knowledge is supposed to be sacred. But…" she turned to look at Dameyon, who was looking at them.

Dameyon smiled and said, "I'm not stopping you, am I? Go ahead, Sel. She is special. The Keeper must have sent her to us. Nobody has the power to break what the Keeper has built, well except for her Divine sister and brother."

"Wait. I'm confused. What about Tarseela and the Jaguar Goddess?" Sathandra asked. There was just so much about this place that she did not know. After all the legends are often learned over the years in one's lifetime. She had to learn it all in a day or less. _Not fair!_

"Oh right, but wait. You must eat. Here." She handed Sathandra a dish and filled it with food.

"Uh…I think that's enough."

"Oh sorry, Mistre—Your Ladyship. Oh, I know. You're testing my knowledge on the tales about the gods. That's it. I understand now. Alright," Gisel took a deep breath and continued, "Well, Tarseela is the patron god of Players but most of the people in the Eastern Lands only think of her as a minor goddess because there is not much that is known about her and she doesn't really seem to take part in people's lives. But she is actually _not_ a minor goddess because she is patron of the Players and therefore patron god of Westlake. Westlake used to have an older, more ancient name, but it has long been forgotten. Or so they say. Legend has it that Tarseela's kingdom which is now known as Westlake was destroyed in a war that was caused by the gods—actually it was more of a war among the gods, well some of them at least—or so they say. There were those who escaped the tragedy and are now what we call Players. There are several clans. The clans and the skills they are strong in date back to before the war, the Great Betrayal. Only we of the clans remember this tale because it is passed down from generation to generation in hopes that one will come to free Tarseela of the bonds that keep her weak."

"The Great Betrayal?" Sathandra asked.

Gisel nodded. "Yes, it was named for the event which occurred among the gods. It is the reason why Tarseela is weak and cannot do much to help her people except find good strong vessels to do her rebuilding. Duke Jarred is one such. The Great Betrayal. Among the gods, there are two names people cannot say without cringing in fear or anger. That is Uusoae and Jasque. Chaos and the Jaguar Goddess. You see the Great Betrayal was indeed a betrayal and one very great indeed because it was committed by a god against another god and the things they do don't affect only them but also all the people in these lands and beyond. Many things seem to have been forgotten over the years but one thing is certain. It was all because of a man. A mortal man."

"Isn't it always," Sathandra said wryly.

"Anyway, they say that this man asked Jasque, who was his patron goddess, to grant his wish and that was to give him the fairest maiden in the land. Jasque agreed to this and saw Sathandra, Queen of what we now call Westlake, walking in her gardens." Sathandra felt her skin grow goosebumps. "They say that Sathandra was known throughout all the lands for her astounding beauty but she had not married because she had taken an oath never to marry or take a lover. Jasque knew about this but thought that since she was a goddess, Sathandra would listen to her and break her oath. But Sathandra did not listen and Jasque raised her hand to strike her down but Tarseela intervened and Jasque's rage was turned towards the goddess. However, Jasque was standing on Tarseela's domain and was therefore weaker and at a disadvantage, so she left. Because Jasque is the twin sister of Kyprioth and because she favored Tarseela among other goddesses because Kyprioth favored Tarseela, nobody thought she would do anything terrible afterwards. But everyone, even Kyprioth did not expect her following deeds. Jasque made a deal with Chaos. Chaos promised to give Queen Sathandra to Jasque's boy in exchange for power. And so a goddess was betrayed by her sister to her other sister and a kingdom was destroyed. Wars tore apart nations and families but unlike other lands where the people could pick up where they left off and rebuild their homes, Tarseela's kingdom was destroyed completely. The queen and her family were gone and so were the people. Jasque, by giving help to Chaos, did the one thing she shouldn't do—she destroyed nations and lost many of her own people in the process. She was then kept in chains by her divine brothers and sisters for her sins and the Black God guards her prison. But before they were able to lock her up Tarseela spoke a prophecy for she is the Keeper of All Knowledge.

"From the One Who is Loved to the One Who Loves

a gift of salvation is promised. An heir to both, the child of neither one, the Promised One will bring the gift of forgiveness from the One Who Loves to the One Who is Loved. And when the promise has been fulfilled, the colors will unite and be as one again.

"That is the prophecy that Tarseela spoke centuries ago and we have been waiting ever since. It is believed that the promised one will restore Tarseela's powers so that she can reunite her people. No one really understands the prophecy. Who is the One Who is Loved? Who is the One Who Loves? Nobody knows. Anything that was once known about it has long been forgotten and all we have are the stories—mere shadows of the true events that caused the downfall of two goddesses and their people."

"So who are the people of Jasque?"

"We, the Keeper's people have a name that originates from a more ancient language. But to others they are known as the Shang."

Jasque: Pronounced as jask

Six visible clans: Each of the clans specialize in a craft that contributes to their people

Sefir (blue) – mages

Kayu (brown) – artisans

Tesfazghi (orange) – scholars

Daifu (green) – healers

Radan (red) – warriors

Raven (black) – spies


	5. That'll Be The Day

**Chapter 5: That'll Be the Day**

"From the One Who is Loved to the One Who Loves a gift of salvation is promised. An heir to both, the child of neither one, the Promised One will bring the gift of forgiveness from the One Who Loves to the One Who is Loved. And when the promise has been fulfilled, the colors will unite and be as one again.

"That is the prophecy that Tarseela spoke centuries ago and we have been waiting ever since. It is believed that the promised one will restore Tarseela's powers so that she can reunite her people. No one really understands the prophecy. Who is the One Who is Loved? Who is the One Who Loves? Nobody knows. Anything that was once known about it has long been forgotten and all we have are the stories—mere shadows of the true events that caused the downfall of two goddesses and their people."

"So who are the people of Jasque?"

"We, the Keeper's people have a name that originates from a more ancient language. But to others they are known as the Shang."

Sathandra blinked. "The Shang," she slowly drawled out.

"Yes, we Players call them Nmjâsq," Gisel said, then she wrinkled her brow in confusion. "You mean you don't know who the Shang are? They're most likely the fiercest and most dangerous warriors in the Eastern Lands and possibly beyond that!"

Sathandra shook her head. "I'm sorry but I'm never really been this far away from home before," she replied innocently. It wasn't really a lie; it was really far if dimensions could be measured in distance.

"Mithros," Dameyon suddenly said. He had been listening the whole time and finally felt that it was alright for him to say something. "You mean you were out there because you were lost? What would have happened to you if we had not found you? It is very dangerous around these parts. Many people are attacked by bandits. Even experienced warriors find difficulty in facing a whole band of them. Probably only a Shang of Immortal rank would find it possible...or a mage…or the Lioness."

"Shang of Immortal rank? The Lioness?"

Gisel shook her head and said, "You don't really know much about the world, do you?"

"Sel," Dameyon cautioned her with a look. "Please let me explain, Mistress West. You see in the Eastern Lands, there are a group of warriors called the Shang. They are the most feared, most dangerous killing machines and are skilled in both armed and unarmed combat. If they hit a man with the intention of causing him to stay down, the person always stays down. There are no exceptions. Of course, they are also governed by their own set of laws or else they could end up starting a rampage and killing thousands of innocents. They have a Shang Council to do that, though nobody but the Shang knows how they choose the people on it.

"Now the Shang cannot be really called a race or the citizens of a country because they are not Shang by blood. Shang warriors are raised from the children of commoners handpicked from all around the Eastern Lands. These children are still very young when chosen and must be Giftless or cannot use magic of any sort. When a child grows up and survives the harsh training, he—or she—takes some sort of test then if he or she passes, a Shang title is given. The title is some sort of animal that is deemed suitable. Examples are Shang Tiger, Shang Wolf, Shang Horse, and so on. However, there are exceptions to this naming rule. There are those Shang warriors who are deemed unsuitable for an animal title because they far surpass the level of other Shang. These men and women are given the names of Immortals, such as Shang Griffin or Shang Unicorn. But the greatest Shang title is the Shang Dragon, but because of the lives they choose to live, no Shang Dragon has ever lived to turn forty.

Shang are wanderers and tend to fight for the people they believe need their help; they are not invincible no matter how much people think they are and can die while offering their services. The longest living Shang Dragon, Liam Ironarm, is one of the most famous Shang warriors to have lived because he helped save a king, the present King of Tortall, Jonathan of Conté. He was also known to have traveled with the great Lioness. Now you must be wondering who is this Lioness? The Lioness is one of the most famous and greatest warriors in history. People say she is touched by the gods. Her name is Lady Alanna, Baroness of Pirate's Swoop and heir to Barony Olau. She was the first female of her time to be knighted since the last female knight died several centuries ago. She is also the King's Champion of Tortall and brought back the legendary Dominion Jewel to King Jonathan. They say that she is not only one of the greatest swordsmen to have ever lived but also one of the strongest mages in our era. She should be in her forties right now if I'm not mistaken and is known for her fiery red hair and her purple eyes."

"Purple eyes!" Sathandra gasped. "She must be a beauty then?"

Dameyon laughed. "I doubt it. Knowing of her fame, if she were a great beauty, the songs would mention them as well, but I've never heard of a song that praises her beauty so who knows. Any questions?"

Sathandra raised her hand. _ Somehow this makes me feel like a student at school. Haha. Well, what the heck! It's fun!_

"Then why do you call the Shang the People of the Jaguar?"

"Pardon?"

"Huh? What do you mean pardon?"

"You just translated the term Nmjâsq. Nobody but us Players and possibly the Shang and some scholars still remember what it means. How could you have known?"

"What do you mean? Didn't Gisel tell me herself that that is what they're called."

Gisel shook her head emphatically. "No I said we call them Nmjâsq. I did not even translate it for you."

All the color drained from Sathandra's face and she covered her face with her hands. "Gran, what is this now," she muttered softly. "I seem to understand dead languages. What is wrong with me?" She looked up and saw Dameyon scrutinizing her. _Oh, I'm in for it now. I was so surprised I forgot to act! Gramps is so gonna be angry when he finds out about this._

Dameyon spoke carefully. "Tarseela must have given you the knowledge. She is said to enlighten those she is pleased with. It must be that. Isn't that right Mistress West?"

Sathandra smiled brightly and answered, "I am so glad you understand, Dameyon. It is often difficult to explain to people when one has the gods meddling in ones affairs. Many do not understand, so…" She trailed off, hoping that what she said would lead him to conclude that the reason for her lack of knowledge was seclusion from the world due to her gift from the gods. Inside she was sighing with extreme relief. _Whew! This guy is awesome. A godsend! The irony! Why do I keep talking to myself in my head? Gran is so getting it when I see her again._

"By the Keeper's Word! You don't mean you've been traveling on your own all this time?" Gisel asked in alarm.

Sathandra sighed and her lip trembled. "Well, you see…um…I was traveling with a relative when we got separated. She's the one who knows her way around. So if you would kindly give me directions to Westlake, as soon as the rain stops, I'll be on my way…"

"Nonsense, Mistress West. We are all headed for Westlake as well," Dameyon interjected. "You must accompany us to our common destination. After all, we cannot just leave a young lady to wander around lost. It will give us Players a bad reputation. No, please don't argue with me on this. I'm sure everyone else will agree and it is quite a long trip and anyone could use the company, even you."

Sathandra opened her mouth, looking ready to protest. Then quickly shut it again and nodded. "Very well, I can't seem to say no to such an inviting offer. However, I don't have anything much to offer you for your kindness and generous hospitality; but please ask and I will try to give you what you request as payment as long as it is within my means."

"Oh no. It is alright for you to come with us. We do not need your payment. The Keeper will surely bless us for whatever good deeds we do for her people and those she sends to us. Clearly you have been sent to us because there is something you must do for her—how ever small or great this task may be."

"But what if you do not get anything back at all for giving me your help."

Dameyon grinned nonchalantly, "Then it is our loss. We choose to have faith in the gods, therefore we are at their mercy. But truly what is there to lose if one gives freely?"

Sathandra could not think of a good reply.

_Wise words. Well what did I expect anyway? He's so much older and a leader to boot._ Sathandra thought as she reflected on Dameyon's words. She was lying on her belly in the tent they had given her to use for the rest of their trip until they reached Westlake. There had been a vote and nearly everybody had thought it fitting to give the "goddess-who-said-she-wasn't-a-goddess" her own special living quarters. And what did they do? They gave her the most gloriously biggest tent they could find! _Ha! I can actually think and say something stupid or grammatically wrong and no one will care or they won't have the gall to record it for all humankind to hear. At least these people are happy, though all this space makes me feel like I don't really know what to do with myself. What to do now that I'm here? They don't expect me to do anything, but I'm just not used to doing nothing…thanks to Mom. I wonder what she's thinking right now. She must have found out already that I'm missing. Oh well, Gran must have told her something, and it's Mother. She won't freak out so easily. The day I see her do that is the day a stranger comes up to me and tells me he's my father!_

"Lady Cassandra." Sathandra looked up and saw the silhouette of a woman standing in front of her tent flap.

"Come in, please." Sathandra sighed inwardly. She'd have to get used to the formality the people were treating her with. It seemed impossible that they would stop even if she asked them over and over. Apparently, the people in this land were very particular with social hierarchy.

A tall woman in her thirties lifted the flap and stepped in. The tent was high enough so that she did not have to bend over. Sathandra smiled at the woman and noticed that she was quite beautiful and tall enough that she could have successfully become a supermodel or even an actress if provided with the right recommendations. The woman curtsied delicately and introduced herself. "My lady, I am Stelli, the head mage."

"It is nice to meet you, Stelli," Sathandra stood and made to curtsy but was stopped.

"Please my lady. I would feel ashamed."

Sathandra noticed the older woman's obvious discomfort and decided to change the subject. "Oh, so you do have those titles. Forgive me but I am not very familiar with many of your customs."

"There is nothing to forgive my lady." Stelli's hands were demurely clasped together in front of her and she gave off the perfect image of a lady-in-waiting answering to her superior.

_Darn it! Where was this woman when they were casting the roles for my movies? She's perfect for many of those roles. Why she could have been Rosetta, Charlotte, Gerry, and lots more that I can't think of at the moment!_

"If it would please my lady, I can tell you more about our customs. Ter'Sefir Dameyon requested that I assist you in whatever you would wish me to for as long as we are traveling together."

"Oh yes," Sathandra remembered who she was speaking with, "It would make me very happy if you would explain these things to me." _Whoo! It's just like I'm in a movie only it's for real!_ Then remembering her manners she offered Stelli a seat on one of the cushions provided for her in the tent. She took a seat first assuming that this was what the other woman expected of her. She was right in her assumption when Stelli gracefully sat down without looking uncomfortable.

"Shall I begin, my lady?"

"By all means." Sathandra thought that maybe she had sounded too rude and arrogant but Stelli seemed unperturbed. She remembered that she was supposed to be a lady and that it was expected that she should be more commanding because that was what their subordinates felt was comfortable. _But what exactly was Stelli's position in the clan as head mage?_

"But before you begin, Mistress Stelli. Would you kindly explain what your position as head mage means in the clan?"

"Of course, my lady. As head mage I am entitled to have a vote on the clan council. Each clan has a council, made up of ten to fifty people, depending on the clan and its size. Also, as the head mage, I have the authority to make a final decision should anything happen to the clan head and his family. Of course, this position is not the same in every clan. This privilege is given to different positions for different clans. But because Sefir is the mage clan, the head of the mages is the next highest position after the clan head and his family. They are what we call the lords. Of course it is not only the clan head and his family who are of noble blood. There are also other families within the clan that are of high rank. But they answer to the clan head's family. I will tell you of their names later on. Actually, the title of head mage is not just given to anybody because it is considered a position of great authority. Before the title is given, the person's family background is brought up before the council along with the person's accomplishments and strength in magic. I was chosen five years ago when I turned thirty. My husband is of the Neferir family, one of the more influential families in the clan, but he is not Gifted. So I was chosen instead. Of course it was with great recommendations from Ter'Sefir Dameyon who is my sister's husband."

"Your sister? Dameyon's wife? I do not think I've had the honor of meeting her."

"Ah. She is not traveling with us right now. She went ahead to the capital of Westlake with several people from the clan."

"Oh. So will I be able to meet her when we get to Westlake? I would like to meet her. She must be a remarkable woman."

Stelli looked down and smiled. "Yes, she is remarkable. She was so adventurous, but he wooed her and she fell in love with him."

"Wow."

Stelli nodded, smiling widely. "Yes. Wow. That is nice to say. Ter'Sefir was right. It does feel good to say it, my lady."

Sathandra waved her hand in a gesture of modesty. "Please. Just call me Cass."

"Of course, Lady Cass," Stelli immediately answered.

Sathandra's jaw nearly dropped and she had to suppress the impulse to hit her forehead in frustration. Just how stubborn were these people!


	6. Go Ahead, Make My Day

**Chapter 6:**** Go Ahead, Make My Day**

"Ter'Sefir, the Lady Cassandra wishes to speak with you." The youth bowed and let Sathandra pass into the tent set up for the clan head's family.

"Dameyon." Sathandra gracefully inclined her head as befit a noblewoman of high rank.

Dameyon stood up from his desk and bowed. "Lady Cassandra." Somehow the days Sathandra had spent with his clan had caused him to suddenly adopt the clan's way of addressing her with the honorifics. It was a constant but more-or-less familiar struggle for her to keep herself from screaming out in frustration.

"How may I help you, Lady—"

"Lady Cass! Lady Cass!" Gisel catapulted herself at Sathandra who immediately shifted her weight to keep her balance.

Sathandra laughed and said, "Gisel, darling. If you continue to do that, one day I may just fall over and into a mudpool."

"Oh no," Gisel said with confidence, "that would never happen to you, my lady. That would be impossible."

"Well, you never know, my dear. The most unexpected things can happen even to the most skilled and fortunate people. The gods have a way of changing people's luck," Sathandra laughed.

"True. But Lady Cass why are you going to talk to Da?"

Sathandra smiled and said, "You will find out soon enough if you listen quietly."

Gisel nodded and looked at her father expectantly.

"Dameyon, I wish to be of use to the clan."

Dameyon was surprised and opened his mouth only to find that he had not yet found a reply.

"I know that it is sudden and that you would wish me to be as comfortable as possible, but I cannot merely idle around, knowing that there is much to be done around me. Let me help."

Dameyon merely nodded wordlessly.

"Now. Where can I help?"

"Um…you can…um…you can do a role in the performances."

"Hmm…to perform. That is a good idea. I like it. Who may I consult with regarding the role I am to play?"

"Actually, I was wondering who to give a certain role to. But since milady has volunteered, I have decided. You are to play the leading role of Katharine in the next performance."

"Will you tell me about her, Dameyon?" Sathandra asked. "I would like to hear it from you."

Dameyon nodded. "Katharine was a noblewoman, a princess, who fell in love with a man who loved another woman. Later she found out that he was in fact her step-brother on her maternal side. But even though they were not blood relations, she knew that she could never pursue this dream because of who she was. Her step-brother ended up marrying the girl he loved since he did not really have as much obligations as the princess him being a mere count—his biological father was a count and was Katharine's mother's first husband. He lived happily till the end of his days but she had to live on knowing that he never would be hers and that his children would never be hers as well. She later on married the prince of another kingdom because her father asked it of her and she could deny him nothing. The story is a sad tale—one of unrequited love and unfulfilled dreams—but it is also a story of strength, for everyone needs strength to face such pain and sorrow and still live on finding a greater cause to live for." Dameyon exhaled heavily. "So what do you think?"

Sathandra looked at Dameyon in surprise. "Surely you don't expect me to carry out the lead role without first seeing if my skills measure up to those of the other people."

Dameyon smiled and answered, "You live to please people, forever changing yourself so that others may continue to live with happy lives and healthy consciences." Seeing Sathandra's astonished countenance, he continued, "I can see that. Forgive me if I address you so formally, but as leader of the clan, I must set a worthy example and show my people that I am with them in their beliefs. It may seem like an ordinary matter to you, but to us our unity is strengthened by such simple everyday things. So please do this for us. You once offered when you came to us a week ago that you would do what we requested of you as long as it was within your abilities. This, my lady, is within what you can do. In fact, I am fairly certain that your abilities are far beyond what any of us can imagine. Please show us what it means to serve Tarseela."

Sathandra sighed. "I suppose it cannot be helped. Very well, Dameyon. Your request I shall fulfill, but take heed. Never forget what you see when the Princess of Players takes the stage."

Dameyon grinned and bowed deeply. Sathandra smiled slightly and gracefully inclined her head again. _Watch me, Gran. See what I can do. I am a daughter of Westlake._

In the Realms of the gods, Tarseela leaned back into her seat cushions with a smile. "So. It has finally begun."


	7. Joey Do You Like Movies About Gladiators

**Chapter 7:**** Joey, Do You Like Movies About Gladiators?**

"Oh isn't it just wonderful, Maria? A ball in my honor! Just imagine all the gold and glitter, and all this just because I'm turning 16!"

"'Tis a fair glorious thing, my dear; but you better stop your head's amovin' else your hair'll turn to a bird's nest."

"I know that. It's just! Oh, just thinking about it gives me the shivers. I just have to wait one more month then my wishes will all come true. A ball where I get to wear the most beautiful dress and meet the most handsome noblemen in the kingdom!"

"Hold still, milady. Just a little…there all done. Now will you look at that. You're a sight for sore eyes! And not just sore ones!"

"Oh! It's marvelous, my dear Maria! I can always depend on you to save my hair."

"Run along now, my dear. His Majesty is prob'ly waitin' already."

"Oh yes! I nearly forgot! I wonder what Father wants to tell me? I hope it's something wonderful."

KNOCK

"Come in my dear."

"Hello, Father."

"Sit down, sit down, Katharine. Now, to business. I asked you to come to tell you about—"

"Oh I hope it's nothing terrible!"

"Well, I hope you don't think it is. It depends on how you look at it. You see the kingdom of Decart has a 20-year old crown prince named Sol who is unmarried. It seems that his father, King Jorin, has been urging him to quickly find a suitable young lady to marry. And after much careful investigation, the prince has chosen you."

"Me! Oh no! Father, what have you done? I can't marry a man I do not love much less a man I don't even know!" The audience tittered and Sathandra struggled to hold her laughter in.

"STOP! This is not a comedy. Let us rehearse—for real now. Milady," the woman told Sathandra. Sathandra nodded as solemnly as she could. Then a voice from the crowd said, "I liked that. Maybe she could do that instead."

The woman looked scandalized. "Nonsense, we must do it the way Ter'Sefir wants it done or my name isn't Lalari Neferir!"

_No need to be so dramatic lady. It's not like I was seriou__s_, Sathandra thought with a sigh.

"Shall we begin, Lady Cassandra."

_Oh joy! I get to be a lovesick git who's got nothing to do but fall in love with the first man __to flatter her. Oh well. A role's a role; nothing I can do about it. _Sathandra wanted to voice her objections but when she saw Lalari Neferir's face, she had to keep herself from hooting in laughter; scandalized was too mild a word to use in that woman's case.

"Ma! Da! You should see it! There's a traveling band of Players. They're settin' up to perform in our town."

The young boy's father looked up from his account books. "Well, well. It's turnin' out to be a good year indeed. This'll bring us a good many customers. They say that there's luck with them Players this year."

"And where did you hear that from? Don't tell me you've been listenin' to those old men you see every evenin'." His wife was a plump creature whose beauty was marred by the scowl she wore on her face; Harol the Innkeeper of Redspring never found the nerve to face his wife when she was exasperated with him.

"I can't help but listen to the folks who come to taste our ale. It's merely out of politeness that I listen. But it should be good for business, don't you think so dear wife?"

Harol's wife finally smiled and Harol remembered exactly why he married her. "Yes and maybe you could keep an eye on your son, because he might be sticking his nose in somebody else's business. That would ruin our luck."

Harol laughed and hastened to follow his wife's suggestion, seeing the wisdom in it.

Colorful streaks of light illuminated the night sky and music filled the air. An air of merriment surrounded the people so that their faces were flushed and their hearts raced with excitement—both residents and visitors alike. The Players had come and they started what was to be a full three days of merrymaking. People from surrounding towns had come to see a once—or if one was lucky—twice in a lifetime event that could equal if not outdo the festivals held on Beltane or Midwinter in the big cities. The Players knew how to enjoy life as they set up stalls that sold all kinds of exotic dishes and traded in all sorts of wonderful items from other lands. The people all rushed to and fro as if they could not decide what they wanted to do, but when the town bells rang for the tenth hour past noon the lights lit up at the square at the very heart of Redspring where a stage had been quickly built up. The curious people moved towards the big oven space and started to gasp in delight at the performances granted them. Men and women alike moved to the sound and beat of drums and bells tinkled as they swished around. A trio of young boys no older than ten awed the crowd with acrobatic feats. And when the people thought they could see no more a man came out on stage and the lights all dimmed until they all focused on him.

"The performances end here today." The people groaned. "Tomorrow the celebration continues and we will put on a show…kings, princes, knights…the things of legends." The crowd cheered and then like a giant swarm of obedient children they slowly dispersed to their homes and their beds, exhausted.

"Lady Cass."

Sathandra turned her head to face the entrance to her tent while wrapping a robe around herself. "Come in."

Stelli, Sathandra's "attendant/lady-in-waiting", pushed the flap aside and glided towards her with a pile fresh towels in her arms.

"Please take these and get ready, milady. Two performances will be required throughout the day, so Ter'Sefir requested that I aid you in the preparations for both of them."

"Thank you." Sathandra had given up being more informal with the woman since all her attempts proved to be fruitless and the older woman was adamant in maintaining her distance. "You may assist me once I have bathed. I will call."

"Very good, milady. I shall return with some supplies. My daughter, Gerta, is outside. Please tell her when you are ready and she will call me."

Sathandra nodded and started to undress as Stelli glided out of the tent.

"Did you hear about the Players performing in the afternoon?"

"I heard it's supposed to be a tragedy."

"I heard it's a romance."

"I heard that it's none of that. It's a comedy, they say."

"Lady."

Sathandra turned around. "What is it, Stelli?"

Stelli gasped. "Oh Goddess, you are beautiful, milady!"

And indeed Sathandra was a sight to behold. Her long dark tresses were swept up onto her head and a few wisps of curled hair were let down to frame her beautiful oval face. Her rosy cheeks were complimented by her kohl-lined green eyes which sparkled with excitement and she was wearing a white dress that was draped like one of those robes of the ancient Greek gods (of course Stelli didn't know who they were but Sathandra did). Sathandra heaved a great sigh of forbearance but her gut was clenching so violently that she thought she would throw up her meal in a moment. She was to perform this role in front of people who had never seen her before and who was to know if they had different tastes from the people back on good ole Earth where she was Sathandra Westlake, the legacy. Now she was Cass West but nevertheless there was that inner pride and self-standard that she had to live up to.

Now, dear readers, I am doing something one must not do when writing a story unless one is truly desperate—skipping the "unimportant" parts with la-dee-da-dee-da. But I truly am feeling desperate. I am in a funk—a.k.a. writer's block. I do not know what to write so I shall be skipping a lot of the play….

LA-DEE-DA-DEE-DA

...or not…

oh well, whatever…

"Maria, get me my hairbrush," Katharine ordered her maid who scurried to find the said item.

"Oh forget it; I'll do it myself!" Pushing her way past the cowed younger girl, Katharine plopped down onto the seat of her vanity table, grabbed a brush, and started to comb away furiously.

"Y-your Highness…" Maria tried to ask, "How was the ball?"

"Hmph! Funny you should ask! No one else bothered to! And to think I had wanted to tell someone about Hugh of Silver Hill!" Katharine's eyes lit up; she had finally found someone to dramatize to.

Maria, who knew her duties as a ladies maid, asked the question she knew her mistress wished to hear. "Pardon my asking, Your Highness, but who is this man?"

"Ah, Hugh is the most stubborn, egotistical, proud fool in the entire universe!"

"Oh but surely there must be something good about him?"

"He also happens to be the most handsome man in the universe! Oh Maria, you cannot know how nervous I was when he first asked me to dance. It was like my knight in shining armor had finally come for me. Then he spoke." Katharine sighed in frustration.

"What did he say, Your Highness?"

"He said that it was such a nice party and he was glad that he had come for there were truly many beautiful ladies to choose from."

Maria gasped. "Oh, he didn't!"

Katharine nodded in absolute certainty. "Oh, yes, he did! Can you imagine the nerve of that man! It was my ball! And he dared imply to my face that any of the women in that room, including me, would fall at his feet if he so desired! That—that—arrgh!"

Maria nodded sympathetically. "Oh my, Your Highness."

"And you know what I said? I told him that if he should so much as show his face to me again I'd throw a fit and ask Father to marry him off to the Duchess of Herringsway."

Maria gasped again. "Your Highness, he must have taken offense at that."

Katharine laughed drily and said, "He laughed."

Maria's eyes opened wide in surprise. She could not imagine that a man would allow a younger woman who was just coming of age to talk him down by nearly commanding him to marry the oldest, grumpiest, most wrinkly widow in the kingdom.

"He laughed then told me that that would be impossible, even for Father who is king, to accomplish."

"Why, Your Highness, he must be a brave man to say that he'll stand up to His Majesty the King!"

"He then continued to say that the Duchess of Herringsway is his grandmother."

Maria had to keep herself from suddenly bursting out in laughter. She contented herself to some slight giggling.

"I agree, Maria. I could not think of anything to say after that and so contented myself with stepping on his feet as much as I could which was quite hard because Father was staring at me so much and I couldn't bear to do it in front of him. Only got to step on his feet when another couple would block us from his line of sight. Hmph!"

"But surely you must have enjoyed the rest of the evening?"

"I would have if I hadn't been too furious still! And all the men seemed so ugly next to him!"

"There is more to it isn't there, Your Highness?"

Katharine nodded sadly. "Father called me to speak with him then also called Hugh forward. Then he said to Hugh, 'Congratulations, my boy! You are finally engaged!' I nearly fainted then."

"How could your father betroth you to him!"

"Do not interrupt me, Maria!" Katharine snapped. "I felt like fainting when Hugh said, 'It is too bad, Cornelia could not come to meet you. I would have wanted her to meet you, Father.'"

Maria gasped and turned pale. "You have a brother, Your Highness. He is Crown Prince?"

Maria shook her head. "My mother's first marriage was to Silver Hill who already had a son by a previous marriage. Then Silver Hill died and she took Hugh with her when she married my father, the king, who treated him as his own son since I was not born then and he had no other children to shower his love upon. Apparently, no one thought to inform me of my stepbrother so here I am, wallowing in self-pity and self-embarrassment. To think I was flattered that Hugh would choose me. He is my brother; that would be incestuous even if we're not related by blood."

Maria nodded.

"But he is so handsome. I do envy Cornelia, whoever she is. I wish she would grow a big wart on her nose so that he'd leave her."

"Your Highness!" Maria chastised as gently as she could given the situation.

Two years later…

"Katharine," the stunningly beautiful woman turned to face the man who was approaching her. "I am so glad that you have come to my son's christening. When I heard about your betrothal to that Prince of Malden, I thought you would be sulking in your rooms for weeks."

"It has only been three days since I sulked, Hugh," Katharine said peevishly. "You look so disgustingly happy; I feel even more miserable. Almost makes me tempted enough to go back into hiding and sulking just to deflate your self-importance."

Hugh laughed good-humoredly. "You certainly have Mother's temper."

Katharine's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Prince Moron of Malden thinks I'm too feisty for a princess."

"Surely Moron isn't his name!"

"It is. It is. I swear the first time I heard it I was ready to succumb to great dramatic throes of laughter."

Hugh raised an eyebrow.

"His name's Peter, okay." Katharine said in surrender. "Happy now?"

Hugh smiled that dashing smile which had broken many hearts including that of his lovely step-sister. "Very. We should hurry. Cornelia would probably be worrying by now."

"She won't," Katharine said automatically then she stopped in surprise and admitted that it was true. Cornelia had nothing to worry about. Hugh was totally lost in his love for his wife and Katharine had finally accepted it. It was time to move on. If Moron of Malden wanted her for his wife, then so be it. Besides, if he did not treasure her enough, he would live up to his name indeed. Katharine knew she was beautiful and intelligent; any man that did not kiss the ground she tread upon was surely stupid—except Hugh of course. He was an exception.

BLAH BLAH BLAH

LA-DEE-DA-DEE-DA

I hope it would suffice to say that Katharine did not marry for love but in time she grew to like and respect her husband and eventually stopped calling him Moron of Malden to his face—she merely said it behind his back—fondly of course. She made a great queen and Prince Moron—I mean Peter—was a good husband and king. In the end, it all turned out alright—well, as alright as life can be when it isn't a fairy tale.

As you can see, in the end, Sathandra got her wish and did the role of a lively princess who talks back instead of the princess who does not.


	8. We'll Always Have Paris

**Chapter 8: ****We'll Always Have Paris**

The massive crowds parted for the company of riders that trotted into the city gates of the capital of Tortall. Corus was overflowing with people as Midwinter approached.

Alan let out a sigh of relief. "Ah, good to be back in the city where there's food and drink for all."

Liam who rode on his right laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say. This Midwinter thing is just giving my parents another excuse to keep me locked up in the palace till only Mithros knows when again."

A groan to Liam's right caused the two friends to swivel their heads to look at Jered who was riding next to Liam. He held the horse's reins in one hand and tried to soothe the knots on his neck with the other. "I don't care where we are just as long as it means we're out of these horses and get soft beds at night."

Alan and Liam turned to look at one another then burst out laughing.

Jered glared at the two. "What's so funny?"

During the week that they had been traveling together, the three young men, who were obviously of high birth as compared to most of the others in the First Company of the King's Own, had discovered that they could be good friends. There was an easy-going air about Jered but something about him still screamed "Do not mess with me." Alan and Liam decided that this was just fine with them but they still found his strange habits and customs amusing. There was one instance when Jered had asked where he could find the "toilet." After explaining to the other two young men the mechanics of a toilet, Alan and Liam had burst out in uncontrollable peals of laughter. They had promptly handed Jered a shovel and told him to dig. Understanding and horror had flooded upon Jered's face and that served to cause Alan's and Liam's laughter to worsen. They finally had to stop laughing or die from suffocation.

Alan finally answered, his eyes twinkling. "You seemed the most eager to mount up this morning and you sleep like a rock."

Liam burst out laughing again. He rubbed the tears out of his eyes. "I tripped over you in the dark. You just rolled over muttering then resumed snoring."

Jered's face flushed a bright red. "Did I happen to say anything I might regret?"

Liam took a deep breath before answering. "You said 'I love you'." Then he burst out laughing again. This time Alan had to make a desperate lunge to grab Liam's reins and pull him right back up before he hit the ground.

Jered's mouth formed a big O and he looked relieved but the bright red color had not yet left his face. It seemed as if he was remembering something that caused him to blush even more. Changing the subject, he asked, "how far till we get to our destination?"

Alan answered, "We're headed to the palace. It's just over there." He pointed and Jered looked to see a massive structure rising up before them. It was bigger than the Mall of America! Okay, maybe not, but it was surely more impressive. Of course the fact that it was a palace from some magical land added to its exoticness and awesomeness.

They were inside the palace and Jered was looking around him in wonder. It was like stepping into a real live medieval setting. Okay, so it really was a real live medieval setting. That's what made its awesomeness even more…awesome. "I'm guessing you would like some peace and quiet for now. It's the guest suites then. I'll ask Father if he can find a way for you to meet the Duke." Liam was visibly forcing himself to forget about his misery and contented himself with showing his new friend around.

"The Duke?"

"Jarred of Westlake, I mean."

"Oh, my grandfather. I hope he is the right man. But, you know, it might just be a coincidence."

"Oh don't worry, he's got the same gold-flecked eyes as you," Alan casually remarked.

"W-what?"

"The eyes. You have the same eyes."

Jered took a long slow gulp of air then exhaled just as slowly.

"You alright? You won't hyperventilate, will you?" Liam asked with concern.

Alan grinned, "My twin sister Aly would be proud of me to have noticed your resemblance to the Duke. Of course, she'd also probably chastise me for not noticing sooner. She's good at those things."

Jered blinked. "You have a twin sister?"

Alan smiled widely and nodded. "But she lives in the Copper Isles now with her husband and daughter. She serves the queen of the Copper Isles."

"Oh…" Jered was surprised. "Your parents let her go? Aren't you supposed to be nobles and doesn't that mean that your loyalty is to the royal family of Tortall."

Alan shrugged. "It's complicated. But as long as Tortall is at peace with the Copper Isles, my parents don't mind. Besides, they're quite liberal."

Liam snorted. "That would be an understatement, Alan. Your mother is the Lioness, the greatest lady knight anyone has ever seen, not to mention the first one in hundreds of years."

Jered's eyes grew wide. "My sister will like her."

"You have a sister?" Liam asked.

Jered nodded. "She is but a year younger than me, actually just a few months younger. I do not know how she is though. I haven't any idea on how to establish any contact with her, if it even is possible..."

Alan sympathetically nodded. "I know how that feels."

"What about me? I have a sister in Carthak. She can't even visit when she wants to."

"Why is that?" Jered asked.

"She's married to the emperor." Liam answered nonchalantly.

Jered abruptly stopped walking. "Emperor?"

Liam shrugged. "Why not? I am a prince and my father is King of Tortall."

Jered started walking again, all the while slowly rubbed circles on his temples. "I forgot."

Alan laughed and Liam shrugged again. "I think that's natural. I'm not the most dutiful of princes. My brother Roald is luckily the heir to the throne so it's alright I guess."

"How come the people who pass by us don't bow to you?" Jered asked suspiciously.

"Oh that. I use a cloaking spell of some sort. They can look at me and see that someone is there but they can't recognize me."

"Magic! Okay, I don't think I'll ever get used to any of this."

Liam nodded. "I'm born into it and sometimes I can't get used to it either so I guess it is understandable."

"Of course," Alan said, "we're not really the most conventional of men. You'll find that not all of Tortallans are as open-minded as our families." 

Liam stopped walking. Next to the door he stopped in front of was a name plate that said 'Westlake'. "Let me just check to see if the Duke's in his quarters."

"Isn't…Midwinter soon? Doesn't he go back to Westlake to celebrate?"

Liam knocked. "He likes it here I guess. He's a good friend of some of the families, mine included."

"Who is it?" A man's muffled voice could be heard from within.

"It's Liam, Alan, and a friend. We've come to visit."

The door opened. "Come in." A voice called out.

Liam shook his head with amusement. "He always has to be so dramatic—uses magic to open a door."

"Or he's just lazy," Alan stated.

The three young men stepped into the room and Jered closed the door behind him. Alan and Liam were both slightly taller than him so he could not see the Duke's face and was sure that the Duke could not see him.

"Ah, lads! What brings you here? Surely this is more than just a visit. I should know by now that you only come when there is something you need from me."

Liam smiled guiltily so Alan took the initiative. "Duke Jarred, may we present to you Jered Johnson who is also called Jered Westlake."

"Ah, yes yes. Jered Johnson…Westlake…Ah!" The duke shoved the prince and his friend out of the way. "What! Gods! What?"

Jered smiled weakly. "Hullo, Grandfather."

"Jered! It is you! You've grown, my boy! It's been…what…ten years? How did you get here? Wait don't answer that. How did you find yourself to be in the company of these two rascals?" the duke turned his head slightly towards Liam and Alan who had stood aside, quietly observing the reunion of the strange young man and his even stranger grandfather.

Jered shrugged. "Was about to go on a plane to London. Then I woke up in a tent. Alan was there. Then they brought me here."

Jarred sighed. "I should have expected it. You are twenty-one now I suppose?"

"Yes."

"I knew it. Don't worry." Jarred leaned in closer to his grandson and whispered, "It happens to all the firstborn in our family line. Though the men at twenty-one and the women at eighteen."

"But what about Sathandra? And Mom? And Dad?"

"They'll be fine. D—Kat will see to it. As for your sister, how is she?"

"Last time I saw her, she was being _dragged_ off to Aunt Dory's."

Jarred chuckled. "Still the same as ever. I'm surprised that they didn't have to bind and gag her as well!"

"Well, we all do grow up even a little."

Jarred smiled fondly at his grandson. "Yes, we do. Now, why don't we head for the mess and you can tell me more about everything I've missed. Alan, Liam, why don't you join us? I'm sure you have many questions of your own."

"So Jered has found Jarred! Wonderful!" Tarseela said to herself. "Now all I have to do is make sure that Sathandra finds her father."

"You've meddled again, haven't you sister?"

Tarseela whirled around to see her brother Kyprioth. "What makes you think so?"

"A little bird told me that there was a young woman traveling with the Players. She is said to be as beautiful as a goddess. I peeked in to see why my informant thought it was interesting. Amazingly, no one knows where she comes from."

"And what does this have to do with your assumption that I have been meddling in human affairs?"

"She has the look of all of your children, Sister. But where…did she get that golden skin? All your descendants have the light skin that does not tan—a dominant trait considering the unions."

"Then what makes you think she's so suspicious? What is it about this girl that makes you think we are related in any way?"

"You know who I am talking about. That is evidence enough that there is a connection."

Tarseela smiled wryly. "You are a sly fox, dear brother. But you are aware that the eldest child is in Tortall with Jarred."

Kyprioth shrugged. "It's not beyond you to send humans away from or into this world. Yes, I do know about it. I am not the Trickster God and your favorite brother for nothing."

Tarseela laughed. "I cannot bring in humans who are not of this world. Only the ancient magic which is tied to the ancient bloodline of Sathandra Sehlan can do that—and even then it is only the firstborn child of the family. I am only able to send humans out."

"There was a child. I remember a girl child. _She_ is this girl."

Tarseela clapped her hands. "And so you have figured it out. I'd keep it to myself if I were you. Much depends on her."

"She is your Promised One." 

Tarseela tipped her head to one side, looking innocent. "Who said she is? After all, she believes her father is not in this world. Well, he must be a human of this world unless any one of our divine brothers, sisters, our cousins has discovered the secret to opening the door to other worlds. I doubt it. They are not very…_subtle_. We would fall to Chaos if such a thing happened."

"You're right," Kyprioth agreed. "It almost happened once."

Tarseela nodded and her eyes grew unfocused as she gazed back through her memories and saw that first moment of despair as she looked down upon the ruins of all that she had built. The terror of her people was still as distinct to her mind's eye as it had been centuries ago.

Kyprioth was observing his youngest sister. She was probably one of the weakest gods at the moment because of that tragedy many centuries before. Her people had dispersed to the many ends of their world. These were the few who had lived. The rest no one would ever really remember but her. He then saw her smile sadly.

Tarseela saw that moment many years ago that had given her hope amidst all of the pain of her loss.

She stood in a great palace that shone white from the marble walls and columns that lined it. She was standing alone and at her feet was a woman in the disheveled white robes of royalty. Sathandra Sehlan, Queen of Listra-Sehlani, was on her knees as she pleaded with Tarseela. Her glorious golden hair was in disarray and her green eyes were wide open with terror but her jaw was set with determination. "Please. Great Lady of Knowledge. Save my people!"

"There is not much I can do, Sathandra."

"Is there no way, Goddess-of-this-land? Is there no way for the people to live so that you may live as well and find renewed strength to raise this land back to glory again one day?"

"There is one way. But you will have to make a difficult decision."

"I will do anything." The queen's eyes were fierce. Tarseela felt her heart weigh heavily on her for the decision was made with no hesitation even with no knowledge of what it entailed.

"Very well, Sathandra Sehlan. You must go to live in another world. There you will be nobody and must fend for yourself. You cannot take anyone with you. With this you will save your people."

"What is your price, Goddess?" Sathandra looked up—her terror-filled eyes had filled with tears at her knowledge of inevitable exile. But it was for her people, so she held her head high even as she knelt before her deity.

"Every firstborn child in your family is mine. Every male child at twenty-one and every female one at eighteen. They are mine to do my bidding. They will be my chosen and one day a child of your blood will sit on the seat of Listra-Sehlani again and all will be well. Chaos will let go of me and my sister Jasque. And people will know the name Sathandra as the savior of her people."

Sathandra closed her eyes and great tears of sorrow slid down her pale cheeks. Her hands shook as she fought to hold the rest of her body rigid. Tarseela touched the young queen's brow. "Daughter of kings, give me your oath. And I will see your vision fulfilled."

Sathandra drew in one long shuddering breath, lay her hand upon her sleeve in the traditional gesture of oath-swearing, and spoke slowly. "I swear upon my name and the name of my fathers and forefathers and those who have worn the crown of Listra-Sehlani upon their brow that every firstborn child borne of my line will be yours to do your chosen work and that I will forsake my name as queen of Listra-Sehlani to become only Sathandra, servant of Tarseela, the goddess."

"Then let me give you my oath as a goddess. I, Tarseela, will do all that is within my power to restore this land to greatness so that one day a child of your bloodline may rule again. This I swear upon my name as a goddess, an oath that is unbreakable and everlasting until it is fulfilled."

Sathandra's head was bowed and her shoulders heaved as she silently sobbed.

"Hold your head up, my daughter. Come. There is much to do."

Sathandra nodded and clamped down her jaw as hard as she could. There was no time for her tears or sorrow. She stood up, wincing as her leg and back muscles protested. She smoothed down the folds of her garment and looked Tarseela straight in the eye. "I am ready."

Sathandra Westlake gasped for breath as she sat up in her cot. It was still dark and she could hear the silent prowling of those who were shifting watch on guard duty. Feeling wetness on her cheeks, she pressed a hand to her face and was surprised to see tears upon her hands.

"It's just a dream," she muttered to herself. She shuddered as she heard the soft echo of a voice in her dreams. _ I am ready…_

Kyprioth smiled as Tarseela finally drew away from her memories.

_Thank you, brother,_ Kyprioth called out with his mind_, I owe you a favor_.

_There is no need to owe me anything. I too am affected by these events,_ the softly amused voice of Gainel responded in the same manner.


	9. We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes

**Chapter 9:**** We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes**

"I want to go home. I hate this place," Sathandra said to herself for the eighth time that morning. The steady downpour continued to make everything around her soggy and she was ready to scream from the lack of anything dry. Her skin felt sticky and her hair felt stringy. If anyone had mustered the courage to sneak a peek into her tent at that moment they would have found a fuming young woman dressed in damp brown breeches and a plain white shirt. No where in sight was the gloriously beautiful Cassandra West. "If I were a fish, I'd love this rain. But I'm not a fish, so why the hell do I have to bother with all this sodden crap! If I were a quick-dry towel, I wouldn't be this soggy right now. But I'm not, so soggy I'll stay. If I were a—Why am I talking to myself? I need to do something with my life soon or I'll start running for the hills! Oh wait! That's it!" She struck her left palm with the side of her closed fist. "Why didn't I think of it before? Gran just said to go the Players not stay with them to the end of my days!"

The sound of a chuckle behind her caused Sathandra to whirl around with a hand held to her chest. Tarseela smiled widely. "And that my dear is what I wanted you to figure out yourself."

"Okay…so what now? Wait! You mean you've just been hiding behind the scenes waiting for me to realize that I'm dumber than I thought I was? Well don't tell me, Sherlock. You've got some new clue for me to puzzle over?"

Tarseela looked offended. "I was merely trying to help you think for yourself. I am aware that you tend to do whatever you're told without questioning the reason and justifiability behind it."

"Well, excuse me for being an obedient daughter." Sathandra pouted and folded her arms across her chest.

"You really hate the rain, don't you?"

"Ding ding ding! You've guessed it right!"

Tarseela sighed. "I should have known you'd be like this. It's normal to feel homesick you know. Your mother was like this as well when she was your age."

"Yeah yeah. Go ahead. You can be my personal shrink. That way I get free consultation."

"Are you…? Um…having your monthlies?" Tarseela carefully asked.

"My what?"

"That time of the month," Tarseela clarified, "Is it that time of the month?"

"Nope. But who knows. _May_be I'm just _may_-jorly PMS-ing!"

"Okay…well at least you're not crying. Angry children I can deal with; crying ones I cannot."

Sathandra smiled sardonically. "Woohoo. Good for you. What is it you want me to do now? I'm guessing it's supposed to be somewhere with less rain."

Tarseela smiled. "Ah! That's a good idea you have there."

Sathandra snorted. "As if you hadn't planned it all already. You're a freakin' goddess for goodness sake!"

Tarseela sniffed haughtily. "Young people don't know how to show respect these days. What is it you're parents are teaching you? Why, when Sathandra Sehlan was queen of Listra-Sehlani, she never spoke to me in such a manner. And she was a queen, mind you."

"_Sathandra_ Sehlan? Sathandra is not a very common name. I only know two people with that name, including me, if this Sathandra Sehlan is who I think she is. Grandfather gave me this name. I assumed it was because he found it exotic."

"Well, he did. Though I believe you know by now that there is another reason. And you're correct. This Sathandra Sehlan was Queen of what we now call Westlake. I'm sure you've heard the story from Dameyon." Tarseela sighed sadly. "Well, Westlake was once called Listra-Sehlani though none but the gods and the oldest of records actually remember that name. Though the story my people tell has nearly become but a thing of legends. Much of the original story has been lost with time and the telling. Humans err even when they strive to remember a tale perfectly. They have short memories." Tarseela smiled slightly albeit somewhat bitterly.

Sathandra knew that of the things she could not stand most in the world the top five on her list would be pain, pity, sadness, the name her mother gave her, and the rain.

Right now, Tarseela was giving off feelings of pain and sadness and Sathandra could not bear it. So she took a deep breath and tried to go back to a subject which did not seem as depressing. "Well, things change. Queen or no queen, goddess or no goddess, she worshipped you. Me, I'm just here for the family thing.

"One thing Mother always taught me was to go along with the relatives. If they ask you to do something, you'd better do it no matter how unreasonable unless it comes with a guillotine. _Then_ and only then do you stop complying. Of course, she never exactly said it. It was usually only implied—just like everything else she ever taught me. I think it was more of a teach-by-example thing we had going on for us in the family. She only once ever told me something she wanted to teach me and that was how to cook."

Tarseela shook her head. "Fine, child. Though that does make sense. I remember when she once made supper. I think everyone who partook of it was confined to bed for a week due to stomach illness. Yes, your mother was never allowed to cook again though it was strongly encouraged that she instruct those who wanted to learn. She had a knack for getting it perfect in theory. We all just couldn't understand how it was so impossible for her to accomplish it in practice but she was always a strange child. Strangely gifted but still strange. Now where was I? Oh yes. Your mother taught you all that for a reason, I'm sure. But whatever happens, you just make sure that you do what I tell you to. It makes for a more pleasant experience on your part if you do it without balking. Now. I'm sending you to the Great Southern Desert. You should have a memorable experience there. And yes, there is a reason why I am sending you there. You figure it out when you get there. And yes, there is a reason why I sent you here as well. Now that should give you enough to ponder about during your free time. "

Sathandra smiled with a bit of chagrin. "Darn it. I guess you are a goddess after all. But please stop reading my mind like that. It's uncomfortable."

Tarseela laughed and shook her head. "My _dear_, I am _not_ reading your mind. I am only guessing. But I've had _years_ of practice and humans never really change. Well, off with you now."

"But what will the Players think if I leave so suddenly with no warning. Surely they will notice that I didn't leave my tent at all?"

Tarseela held her arms out, hands held palm-up. "You are what you are. They will believe it."

"Believe what? What it?" Sathandra raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned on her. She started backing away from the goddess and held her hands in front of her, as if she could stop the thought from getting into her mind. She shook her head. "Oh no. Oh no no no. You can't," Sathandra groaned. "What if they see me again? They'll start bowing and _curtsying_ again. An old woman nearly fell over doing it. Her face was this far from being squished into the mud." She held up her hand with her index finger and thumb just millimetres apart to emphasize her point. "What if it really happens next time? She curtsies and her face goes _squelch_ into the mud for real. I can't just stand there and accept that it's okay for that to happen because it's not okay but people here think it is. In fact, for some insane reason, I think they'll think it's gallant and loyal of her. They won't ever know how I feel, of course. I'll feel like pulling my hair out while that old lady is beaming and spitting out the mud she accidentally ingested. And I can't do anything about it!" 

"There there, child. You know, if there is one thing a goddess is good at, it's predicting what happens next. I'd say it's a 40-60 percent chance that they'll listen to you when you tell them not to bow _or_ curtsy if you see them again. I think that's a much better number than what you have now, which is about 25-40. And that woman was not that close to the ground. Or so the horses say. They think you just misjudged the distance because you're human. That is funny although very true. Human's have very bad perception of the things around them. Though, my dear, you can probably get away with the excuse that you were quite far away, that there was a big crowd obstructing your view, and that you're too tall to be able to tell."

Sathandra rolled her eyes. "Whoopee. What joy! Twenty-five, forty, sixty? As if that makes any difference. As long as it's not a hundred percent, I won't be satisfied. There's still that forty or whatever percent chance that the old lady's face'll go _squish_ into the mud. And who knows, next time it could be worse. Next time it could really be crap that goes into her mouth."

"That admittedly does not sound like a very good thing. Well, it is crap. I see your point. But never you mind that forty or whatever percent. You'll see when this thing happens—if it happens—that it does make a difference—a very big difference," Tarseela assured her. "Now it's off to business."

"I think I wanna find a hidey-hole to crawl into and die under," Sathandra groaned.

"Nonsense. Isn't it more exciting to be alive and kickin'?"

_Alive and kickin'?_ Sathandra thought, _Honestly, where does she pick up this stuff? She uses more TV lingo than I do and I'm in showbiz! _But she just wryly said out loud. "Somehow I don't think kickin' and screamin' for all I'm worth is going to help me get out of this crap." _Why do I keep on saying crap today? Argh! That word is so totally imbedded in my vocabulary. That's what? Uh…five times I said it today. Well, I do feel like crap. That's six times now. Of course the last two are in my head. But it still counts!_

"Oh. Well now, stop criticizing yourself. I'm not reading your mind. Believe me, if I could, I'd probably be doing much worse than dragging you off to wherever. I mean that would mean I could read everyone's minds then it would be so easy to just plot everything knowing how everything would turn out. Currently, I'm just using patterns based on the standard human thought process. Though it's a bit risky, especially when dealing with people like your mother or father…"

"My father? He's in on this too? But he's so…umm…unsparkly…What does he know about all this."

"Ah! You're right. We better hurry and get going. Fix your things now. Hop to it! Oh wait. On second thought…" Tarseela rolled her billowing blue satin sleeves up to her elbows, shook her hands, then raised her arms up and with an upward jerking motion of her hands she said, "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!"

Sathandra had to quickly duck to keep her clothes from flying into her face. _What the heck! She's my dictating great-grandgodmother! And now, she's trying to be my fairy godmother too? Wait. Was that a hair dryer? How…_

Then in seconds, everything was done.

"Uh…" Sathandra was speechless. Her eye twitched then she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"That was wonderful!" Sathandra gaped at the sight of Tarseela's look of extreme satisfaction and absolute glee.

"Oh I always wanted to do that!" Tarseela rubbed her hands together delightedly. If she had not been a goddess who believed in staying poised, she would have been bouncing off the walls of the tent.

_So that's what watching too much cartoons does to you…Where does she even find the time or the TV?_

"Gran…"

"Yes, yes. You're right. To the Bazhir we go!"

And then they were flying above the trees. Somehow, even with the rain, they were not getting wet at all. _The perks of being a goddess,_ Sathandra thought to herself_. _She looked down and saw the dozen or so glowing fairy lights that illuminated the camp of the Sefir clan. As the lights faded away in the distance, she looked back up and tilted her head to look at her devastatingly beautiful relative; and, in the dusky glow of the moon, she realized where her mother had gotten her looks.

_Somehow, those two are just so alike. Gran __and Mother look so much alike. They even have the same feel, like an aura of some sort. Gran just reminds me so much of Mother. _Sathandra sighed. _Oh, I do miss her!_


	10. Bond  James Bond

**Chapter 10:**** Bond. James Bond.**

People fear those with power even those who are said to be friends and allies. James Fireclaw was an ally and people sidled away from him with their eyes half-averted—even the Bazhir, known for their ferocity in battle and their warrior-exalting customs feared him. He exhaled heavily and fixed the burnoose wrapped around his head that protected him from sunstroke and too much sunburn. The Bloody Hawk tribe was starting to give him impatient looks. It had been weeks since that dream and even he was starting to wonder why he was even there. The gods were never forthcoming when they asked for favors. It was usually "Go there and wait." or "Look for this person or that thing." Gods! Whoever said being caught between two sides was misery surely did not know what he was talking about. Or maybe he had never met a god. Catching the attention of a god was _misery_. Now getting caught between _two_ gods was the ultimate misery. And that was exactly where he stood. What more did they want from him? James sighed and only his training kept him from hunching his shoulders.

A desert eagle soared high above, its silhouette marked by the setting sun. James held up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun's intense glow as he watched the bird fly higher and higher, moving further and further away.

A young boy ran past him, face full of excitement. His destination: a group of boys all roughly around his age. "Hurry, northerners from Corus." The boys all shrugged; it was common enough nowadays to get guests from outside the desert. "Wait, it's not just anyone. I heard the shamans talking. It's the 'Woman Who Rides Like a Man' come to visit. She's here with her son!" All sounds of mindless chatter stopped and the boys ran for all they were worth, tripping over one another in haste.

James shrugged and decided it would do no harm to pay the Lioness a visit, though it would be awhile before he would have the chance to speak with her. She was one of the tribe but was often too busy with the realm's duties that visits to her Bazhir friends were as rare as trees in the desert. Many would want to claim the honor of talking to her before they would let a foreigner—a guest he may be and a respected one at that—whisk her away for an hours-long conversation.

As he approached the noisiest, busiest area in the village, he heard a loud booming voice above the din ordering the visitors' mounts and belongings this way and that. James shook his head wryly. If the crowd hadn't annoyed Alanna yet, then the ear-splitting roar of the blacksmith who considered himself head of the welcoming party definitely would. He didn't know why those people around her were still alive. A tap on his shoulder made him to whirl around and reflexively sink into a crouch. He straightened when he saw a red-headed male with twinkling greenish-hazel eyes and a crooked smile standing where he thought his opponent should be. James straightened with a laugh, "Ah, lad. You are your father's son. It has been awhile since someone snuck up on me like that."

Thom grinned. "Sorry," he said without any remorse at all, "it's a habit you pick up in my family. Da insisted on teaching all of us even though in the end it was only Aly who decided to take it to heart. So how's life among the Bazhir, Master Shang Tiger."

James laughed. "It's been good lad. Besides all the wary looks and the sidling away from the vicinity when I walk by, life's swell. And don't call me that."

"Master Shang Tiger, Master Shang Tiger, Master Shang Tiger." Thom chuckled gleefully and accompanied his words with a poke on the Shang Master's shoulder.

James glared at Thom. "You know you've been doing that ever since we met when you were but a wee lad. You're several years past the age of twenty but you really still are a lad despite what those rumors say about you bein' a great mage an' all."

Thom grinned widely in his lopsided manner. "Sorry, it's really fun though."

James took a step forward and reached up slightly to pat Thom's shoulder. Ten years ago, he had to reach down to pat the lad's head; now they were of a height. "You know, Thom. You're one of the few people I know who would annoy a Shang on purpose and still get away with his head intact."

Thom innocently spread his arms out wide. "What can I say, _Master Shang Tiger_, I am my mother's son. Her reputation is an advantage and so's mine."

James snorted and crossed his arms. "Conceited bastard you are."

"I can't help being born the way I was."

James snorted again. "Can't we all? Oh, and lad, you may want to give your ma a hand there. I think she'll probably kill someone in the next few seconds if she doesn't get a breath of air soon."

Thom made an extravagant bow and rushed of to rescue the poor Bazhir—who didn't know any better—from their deaths at the hands of his mother.

"It's really amazing how all of her children are red-heads but none of them have her temper or her scary eyes," James said to no one in particular. 

Torches lit up the village as the sun and its far-reaching rays finally disappeared beyond the horizon. James stood in one of the grand tents used as meeting places by the tribe. He was examining the furnishings and was just about to pick up a painted wooden carving of a red-haired rider on a horse when a woman's low voice disturbed his musings. "It has been a long time, James Fireclaw Shang Tiger," James turned around at the familiar voice of the Lioness. "It has been, Sir Lady Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, King's Champion of Tortall, Lioness."

"It's just Alanna," the flame-haired woman glowered but her eyes crinkled up in amusement.

"And it's just James. The Bazhir sun has done you some good, I see." James nodded appreciatively at her new tan.

"Thank you. The sun here seems to have been even better to you."

"Yeck!" Thom was lightly leaning against a heavy-looking wooden chest with a look of one who is watching something gruesome unfold before his eyes. "I do not know what is more disturbing. The fact that you always flirt with my ma when you see her despite your claim to be a loyal husband to your wife or the fact that Ma always flirts right back and Da doesn't mind at all if—when—he finds out."

"It's all in the name of good clean fun, lad." James laughed.

"Clean my foot." Thom sulkily retorted.

"By the way, Alanna, how are your respectable husband and your Chaos-spawned offspring doing?"

"Oh, it really has been several years, hasn't it? George is quite busy with his reports, Alan's doing well with the King's Own—he's Captain of First Company now, and Aly's in the Copper Isles."

James whistled in surprise. "Fancy that. The Copper Isles. Her da sent her?"

Alanna shook her head. "She started her own chain of command there. She answers to Queen Dovasary." There was a note of pride in her voice.

"Well, I can imagine. That girl always had a good head on her shoulders despite the fact that she flirted with every male in sight since even before she was able to walk."

"Not anymore," Alanna replied smugly, "She's finally found someone to suit her, even if he was a crow once."

"A crow." James stared at her then turned to Thom who was quite content to just listen. "Is your mother joking?"

Thom shook his head. "He really was a crow once. Apparently, some animals can shape-shift into humans at will. Though they usually just aren't crazy enough to think it's a good idea. Interesting fellow, this Nawat Crow. He has Aly constantly up on her toes and she's stopped flirting with other men."

"He's married her?"

Thom nodded. "They have a daughter now."

"Her name's Elani after her grandmother Eleni," Alanna said, her tone was that of a doting grandmother. Then she sighed. "We don't get a reunion very often though."

Thom shrugged. "We use those Stormwing-made darkings to see each other since all we get on our scrying mirrors is black nothingness. Apparently, Aly's god-touched and by associative property her mate and offspring don't appear to us as well."

James sighed dejectedly. "The gods. They are an amazing sort of folk. The vaguest and most maddening beings you have to deal with if you ever have to deal with them. You think they can't get any more daft, then they manage to think of something so crazy the only thing you can say about it is that it's all gods-cursed." If it had been anyone else James was talking to, his companions would have already made the Sign against Evil on their chests for James's blasphemy. But they weren't anyone else and Alanna's family were nearly all god-touched; so Alanna and Thom agreed readily enough that it was indeed an indisputable fact that gods are meddlesome creatures one must bear with for the better good of humanity.

"BUT. It was the gods that got us to know one another," Alanna said trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

Thom nodded. "We met you because of that, Master Shang Tiger." Alanna glared at him. "Sorry, it's habit…err…Master Fireclaw."

James raised an eyebrow and one end of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. He said to Alanna, "I'm used to it. He can call me whatever he likes, so long's it's not in public. Have to keep my image intact."

Alanna sighed and shook her head. "You really spoil him too much."

James shrugged. "Can't help it. He reminds me oftentimes of my boy Jude."

Alanna's eyes lit up. "How is he? He should be a Shang Master by now?"

James nodded and smiled. "He did me and, I'm sure, his ma proud," an air of melancholy suddenly settled around him again.

Thom had never been told of the reason behind the Shang's frequent lapses into depression but he knew that he had to do something to make the man feel better. "So Jude's the Shang Kitten now? I bet he's really good at hissing people to the Black God's Realms."

James—his sad mien somewhat more subdued—gratefully answered, "Ha! He'd throw a fit hearing you say that. He's the Shang Griffin."

Alanna grinned and Thom whistled, very much the impressed son of the Lioness. "An Immortal. That's something. It's a shame he didn't come with you this time. I would have liked to congratulate him. Who knew he would turn out so well when he was so pathetic several years ago."

James smiled at the fond memories. He had met the Lioness and her family only several months after his wife was taken away by her goddess. Jude had been left in his care but he did not know what to do with his life anymore. Life seemed to have ended when he discovered that he might never see his wife again. She was his world and the gods had called her to their service. Well, it was one goddess in particular. He wasn't entirely sure that any of the other deities were even informed of this arrangement. But still, gods were all similar in their ways and who was to say it could not have been another deity in another lifetime.

_James sighed in relief as they finally reached __Corus. He looked around, ready to find temporary lodgings for him and his son. Jude was looking around in awe. The sights and smells overwhelmed him as it was his first time to the marvelous capital city of Tortall. Out of the corner of his eye, James spotted a family of nobles all seated on magnificent horses just entering the city. His eyes crinkled in slight amusement as he noticed that all but one of the party were red-headed. He was just about to turn away when Jude suddenly broke into a run and skidded to a halt only a few feet before the steed that bore the weight of the brown-haired noble and his red-haired little girl seated in front of him. With lightning-quick reflexes of one who is skilled in horsemanship, the man quickly drew up his horse before the young boy could accidentally be trampled under his horse's hooves. James had panicked and had just reached Jude's side when the green-eyed six-year old cocked his head as if perplexed then pointed at the man._

_James had been horrified at his son's rudeness, knowing that some nobles were merciless even to children. Jude continued to point and said, "Shiny." James blinked. He turned to the noble and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Bowing slightly, he said, "I'm sorry milord. He is just tired from the long journey." But Jude insisted, pointing once more. "Shiny. He sparkles da." Then he turned to the nobleman's red-headed wife. Pointing her way, he said, "She glows."_

_The nobleman, quite to his surprise, raised an eyebrow and said, "Your lad has some talent. It is the Sight then?"_

_Jude shook his head. "No, sir. Not the Sight."_

"_But it is a magical ability, surely."_

_Jude did not feel obligated__ to tell this noble everything about his family, so he just shrugged._

_The little red-haired girl seated atop the horse, suddenly pointed at Jude and said, "Da, he glows."_

_The nobleman laughed and grinned at James. "Your lad may not have the Sight, but my lass sure does. What's your name, lad?" The nobleman asked Jude._

_The boy proudly puffed up his chest and answered, "Jude Fireclaw. One day I'll be a great Shang Warrior just like my da."_

_The noble's eyes turned to James and he suddenly spoke like a commoner. "And which Shang warrior do you be?"_

"_Shang Tiger." James was too perplexed…and surprised…to say more._

"_The Shang Tiger eh?" The noble stroked his chin in thought._

"_George, what's taking you so long?" The noble's red-headed wife expertly wove through the crowd with a son seated in front of her and another trailing behind on his own smaller mount._

"_Here, lass. This is the Shang Tiger. Fancy that, what are the chances of meeting so many Shang within a lifetime."_

"_That's just you, George. You wouldn't even let me spar against the Shang Falcon when we met him at Port Caynn."_

_George groaned, "You still remember that incident with Joesh! But t__hat was years ago, lass. Besides, you needed your rest."_

_James cleared his throat and said, "Beg your pardon, I believe my son and I have to quickly search for lodgings before the day is over." The red-haired noblewoman turned her head towards him and his eyes locked onto hers. James gasped. Red hair, violet eyes. "Mithros, you're the Lioness," James gasped. The red-haired woman flushed to the tip of her fiery-red hair._

_George laughed, "Lass, all these years and it still embarrasses you when someone realizes who you are."_

_The Lioness glared at her husband then turned to James, "Yes, I am the Lioness; but I do very much prefer Alanna. What is your name Master Shang?"_

"_I am called James Fireclaw. This is my son Jude."_

"_Hmm…" The Lioness suddenly grinned, as if she had a sudden ingenious idea, "You can stay with us at the townhouse."_

_George laughed then coughed to cover it up when his wife sent another glare his way. He said to James, "You better prepare yourself. She has an ulterior motive this time. Better start drawing your swords."_

_James looked at George in confusion. Jude pulled at his sleeve. "Da, I wanna go see the townhouse."_

"_And you shall," the Lioness said._

"_But—"he was interrupted by George who chuckled and said, "Just say thank you, Fireclaw. She's stubborn as a mule, 'specially when she wants to duel a Shang."_

_James laughed__. It felt good to laugh. He hadn't laughed in what felt like ages. A change of atmosphere would be nice. And these were good people…he could feel it…his instincts hadn't failed him...yet. _

"_Da, can we go, can we __go. Please, please, please," Jude begged, tugging on the fabric of his father's breeches. James laughed again and mussed his son's mahogany brown hair. "You, son, are a handful. Go and say thank you to the Lioness."_

"_Alanna," the lady knight immediately corrected._

"_Go thank…err…Lady Alanna, then."_

_Jude hopped over to stand beside Alanna's horse, craned his neck up, up, up, looked the Lioness straight in the eye and said, "Thank you, _Aunt_ Alanna."_

_James gasped __at his son's boldness, but the Lioness merely laughed and reached down to pat the boy's head. James sighed in defeat. The boy was a Player at heart. Just like his mother. George laughed, "Well, will you look at that. Not yet grown and this boy's already a charmer. Better watch out Fireclaw, this one'll break many hearts if he's not careful."_

"_He gets that from his gods-blessed mother," James mumbled, rubbing his forehead with a weary air._

"_His mother ey…I would like to meet this mother of his. She must surely be a wonderful woman," George said contemplatively._

_James snorted. Somehow, the memory of her was not so painful when he was with these people. "Definitely wonderful. A handful she was. Maybe almost as much as the lad. Sometimes even more. I do wonder why I love her."_

_George grinned. "All women are a handful."_

"_I heard that, George," Alanna said._

_George continued, "Especially the ones that are most lovable. Stubborn as mules, crazy as horses, but as adorable as...foals." His horse whinnied as if he had understood the conversation, sounding indignant. "Sorry there, mate," George said to his mount, affectionately patting the horse's neck, "but I couldn't think of anything better at the moment." The horse snorted and James could almost swear that he saw the creature roll its eyes._

"_Must you compare me with horses, George?" Alanna woefully asked._

"_Who said I was talkin' 'bout you, ladylove?" George answered with an innocent smile on his face._

"_Fine. Thom, come here." The boy seated on his own mount was about Jude's age. He obediently moved his pony next to his mother's horse and silently glared at Jude. Alanna dismounted, reached up to bring her daughter down, and took the reins in hand. Turning the horse around, she gestured for Jude to walk beside her. Thom glared harder but nonetheless followed._

"_Oh, don't be like that, lass. I was just messin' with ya'." George quickly dismounted, dragging his little daughter along with him, and rushed to catch up to her. James merely trailed after them, laughing at the couple's antics._

"Do you hear that?" Thom tilted his head, trying to listen better.

James nodded. "It sounds like the Bazhir have another guest. This, I think, this is the most exciting day that the Bazhir have had in months. Shall we?"

Thom bowed to James and sweeping one hand out with a flourish, he said, "Ladies first."

James viciously glared at him, but bit his tongue, refusing to let Thom's horrible jokes get to him. To his satisfaction, Alanna reached up and smacked the backside of her son's head. James saw Thom wince and rub the back of his head. He felt so much better, knowing the strength of Alanna's arm and the effect of the blows that were delivered upon the guilty.

"I'm sorry," Thom quickly said. "No, you're not," both James and Alanna just as quickly retorted.

Thom shrugged nonchalantly and continued walking as if no one had spoken.

"Times like this, I almost wish I was allowed to duck him into the fishpond like I did with my brother Thom when we were children," Alanna dryly commented. James coughed, trying to hold back his laughter.

The commotion around the newly-arrived visitor was nearly as great as those that arose at the arrival of the Shang Tiger and the Lioness. _It must be a very exciting week for them_, James thought, _we'll be the talk of the town for years to come, when a Shang warrior and the Lioness and some other creature all meet up in the same tribe at nearly the same time_.

James was just tall enough to glimpse a head of glossy brown hair and he saw that Thom could see it too. But that was all they could see of the newcomer. Unfortunately, Alanna did not have the advantage of being as tall as her friend and son. It irritated her that her height should be a shortcoming that she could never overcome. She could not witch herself to grow taller and so she resorted to the only thing that she could do and, by far, the only method that had a hundred percent chance of success. She took in a deep breath then yelled for the Bazhir to move over. _She_ wanted to see what the noise was about. And just like that, the crowd parted like chastised children and almost-reverently let her pass. James and Thom saw the opportunity and readily followed her to the heart of the crowd. People had finally begun to calm down a little and had stepped back enough to certainly allow the woman standing at the very center to breath.

The young woman—for she was certainly young, no older than twenty—turned to look at those who approached. Alanna saw her first and felt awe that such a beautiful person should exist. It was not that the young woman appeared unruffled—for she did look _very_ harassed—but the sun was just at the right place in the sky and all who beheld her were stunned at the sight of such beauty that could only be achieved by the gods. Rays of light against her hair bore the semblance of a golden veil upon her head that turned her reddish-brown hair into a rich auburn. She stood with her body positioned in a way that looked both elegant and alluring. And her head was gracefully tilted; her green eyes caught the light and seemed to sparkle. _Now that is beauty_, Alanna thought. Thom was simply dumbstruck; his train of thought had vanished as soon as he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. Only James saw her and thought of things beyond her beauty. For as soon as he saw the tilt of her head, the outline of her nose and jaw, and the flashing of the young woman's eyes, he thought, _So this is what the dream's about. It took her long enough to get here. One merely has to look at her face to see her resemblance to that blasted goddess. Why do they always have to make a grand entrance?_

Alanna finally found her voice. "I am Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau. What is your name, my dear?"

The young woman frowned slightly and wrinkled her nose. Alanna raised an eyebrow at the young woman's antics. The unknown lady held her breath for several seconds and pinched her nose. A few seconds went by when she finally let go and then smiled. Alanna heard sharp intakes of breath around her. _She has the whole camp in love with her now_, she thought but only said, "Your name, young lady?"

"Cassandra West, ma'am…err…milady. Ha…hah…ah…achooo!" She sneezed so violently that Alanna who was standing closest to her could see tears spring forth from her eyes. She blushed and covered her nose and mouth with a hand. "I'm sorry. Desert sand does not really agree with me." Her voice came out quite muffled. Alanna smiled. That was certainly unexpected from so beautiful a girl.

"Enough of this!" James stepped out from behind the Lioness. "You," he said pointing at the newcomer, "Come with me. We need to talk."

Sathandra opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come. So she just closed it again and nodded. This handsome man before looked like he had a lot of authority. She noticed that the Bazhir would not even look at him directly. She slowly trudged after him and held her breath, hoping that the desert dust would stop bothering her poor nose and aching head. Too much sneezing could probably make her to go into cardiac arrest. She glared at everything she could possibly glare at without getting her summarily executed. She glared as hard as she could at the tall man and then blinked. Was that just her imagination or did she just see a flash of gold on him? Not the metal kind but like the little flashes of stuff she saw in great abundance on Tarseela. She rubbed her eyes and squinted. Yes, there it was. Quite faint but there.

The man stopped walking, as if sensing that she had stopped following. He looked annoyed as he turned to face her. "This will do, I guess. No one will hear us if we talk here." He walked back towards her and stopped a foot away.

"You're shiny," Sathandra said in awe. Her voice came out in a childlike squeak. The shimmering golden threads were definitely brighter now.

"What? Is that all you can say. You sent those dreams didn't you? I know your work when I see it. And just because you changed your appearance, don't think I can't tell it's you." James said crossly.

Sathandra looked at him as if he was crazy. "Do I know you? Um…this is a misunderstanding. You know, I kind of don't know where you're going with this conversation. I mean, dude, I just got dragged into this hoopla myself."

James scoffed. "Don't play innocent with me. Anyone with eyes can see the similarity between you and that Tarseela."

Understanding dawned upon Sathandra's face. "Oh. You think I'm Tarseela. Well…nope. Isn't me. I'm just one of her lowly servants."

This did little to decrease James' suspicion. If there was one thing Tarseela was good at, it was trickery. Almost petulantly he said, "Prove it."

"Um, okay…well. Geez! How the heck do I prove I'm innocent…err not innocent but…well oh nevermind…umm," she chewed on her bottom lip as she thought and out of the corner of her eye she saw the shiny golden man freeze. He was staring transfixed at her mouth.

Sathandra stopped biting. "Is there something wrong with my face? I mean, God, most people don't really believe me but it's all natural…" she swallowed, "Are you okay?"

"What?" The shiny man looked like he was miles away.

"Halloo!" Sathandra waved her hand in front of his face—a gesture she regretted a moment later as his hand shot out and found a place on her hand that she hadn't known until then could cause tears to well up in her eyes. "Ow! Hey, what are you doing! Let go!" Sathandra yelled into his ear. That seemed to break through his stupor and he let go.

"Sorry. That was uncalled for but I do things like that out of reflex, so next time…"

"That's ok. Not much harm done," Sathandra said, smiling weakly.

"But that thing you did with your lip…you looked just like…forget it."

"What? Finish the question! I'm in suspense here."

"Uh, alright." He took a deep breath. "Do you by any chance know of a woman named Katharine—eyes just like yours."

"Mother!" Sathandra was surprised. She had NEVER been likened to her mother.

"You know her!" James stepped forward and grabbed her arms, "Where is she? Do you know where I can find her?"

Sathandra's eyes were sad. "We can't reach her from here or from anywhere else in this world. Only Tarseela can."

"But-" James loosened his grip on her arms. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. He slumped in defeat. "But-" A new thought hit him. "But if Kat is your mother…How old are you?" he demanded.

"Umm…twenty?"

"Month."

"June. The summer solstice."

James gasped. "Twenty. Kat is your mother. Of course, of course, you look like her. But the hair and the skin…" A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Who exactly are you?" Sathandra suspiciously asked.

"I think I'm your father."

Sathandra's legs gave way and she sat down on the dirt. "My father. But Mom is married to Stephen and-"

"WHAT!" James roared. "Who is she married to?" He started cursing violently and Sathandra winced. She suddenly heard footsteps drawing near.

"James? Cassandra? James is that you?" It was the Lioness.

James didn't seem to hear Alanna and continued swearing. A beat later he suddenly stop mid-invective. "Tarseela." He went very still and Sathandra was reminded of a beast stalking it prey. "Where is that—that—"

"Looking for me, James?"

James whirled around to face the devastatingly beautiful goddess. He was livid but his voice was low and steady. "Why is my wife married to another man?"

Tarseela laughed. "Oh that. It's nothing to worry about-"

"NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT! NOTHI-"

Tarseela lowered her hand. "Ah, now that's better. As I was saying before I was duly interrupted, it's nothing to worry about because they're not really married."

Tarseela raised her hand. "There. Now you are free to comment."

But James was taken aback and had nothing to say. It was Sathandra who spoke up. "You mean Stephen isn't my real dad?"

Tarseela shook her head. "Not in the least. He's actually a distant relative on Jarred's father's side. If this isn't a case of keeping it in the family…"

"Thank GOD."

"I beg your pardon!" Tarseela dramatically put a hand to her chest.

"I mean _gods_. Thank gods. Thank the gods!"

"Ah, well since you don't really mind that James is you father and James knows that his wife isn't a bigamist, there's no problem, isn't there?"

"Waitaminute. _He's_ my _father_? But—but-"

"Well, yes. Who else?"

James finally found his voice. "I _am _your father, if what you're saying is true and you're twenty. Kat left about nineteen years ago. It makes sense that she was with child at that time."

"Then it's settled. I'll leave you to the introductions, my dearest grandson-in-law." And with a wave of her hand, Tarseela disappeared.

"Oh there you both are. Are you alright?" Alanna looked concerned. Sathandra smiled wanly and James looked spent.

"Took you long enough to get here," the Shang mumbled.

Alanna gave him a strange look. "What are you talking about? I heard you yelling then suddenly it was quiet and I found you two here."

Sathandra and James exchanged looks. "GODS!"

Alanna grimaced. "Bloody…"


	11. The Truth Will Set You Free

**Chapter 11: The Truth Will Set You Free**

"Bloody—"

"Ma? What's taking you so long?"

Alanna snapped. "What is it, Thom!"

"Just came by to tell you that they put me in a different tent this time. Master Shang…err…Fireclaw got my usual one." Alanna merely scowled in response.

"I haven't by any chance interrupted anything, have I? You look like you ate something sour, Ma."

"Thom…" her voice held a warning.

"Well," Thom defended, "I had to tell you where I was staying, else you'd probably walk into Master Sh—Fireclaw in the nude." At that, James grinned and Sathandra caught something at the back of her throat and started to cough violently.

"Oi!" James slapped her on the back, only making everything much worse. "Breathe, breathe, lass!"

"Stop hitting her, you big idiot! You're making it worse!" Alanna's face was nearly as red as her hair.

The pounding feeling on her back vanished.

"Breathe. Then swallow. In and out. Slowly, that's it. That's a good girl." Alanna spoke kindly despite the thunderous looks she was sending the unfortunate Shang Master.

Thom gave a low whistle. "Sorry about that, errr, my lady. I did not think you would hear that."

Okay. That was definitely not on a need-to-know basis. My dad sleeps…in the nude. "Sorry," she automatically said, "I mean the thought...I mean _him_…er…it's just so _wrong_. For me of course. I mean…" She looked up at the blank faces. "I'm not really making any sense, am I?"

"Not really," Thom said blandly.

"Well, I mean, I just found out who my father was. My real father, you know. And he's not exactly what I had in mind. I mean, you just said he walks around in nothing! In a tent! In the desert! I mean, the _thought_," she squawked, "Mom would probably ban me from you guys!"

"Wait," Alanna demanded, "Stop. _James_ is your father. This…this…_this_ next to me is your father?"

Sathandra nodded.

"James!" Alanna screamed at the poor man standing right next to her. "How dare you keep something like this from us! I mean George and Thom and Alan and…!"

James flinched in pain. Nothing was more painful than an angry Lioness in one's ears. "I didn't know until now," he protested.

"Then HOW? How did you find out that you're her gods-blessed da if you didn't know until you just met her now?" She turned her fierce violet-eyed gaze at Sathandra. "I don't suppose you," she pointed at the overwhelmed girl, "knew anything about it before he did?"

"Actually," Sathandra's voice cracked and she cleared her throat, "actually, I found out after he said it, which was probably a few seconds after he found out himself."

Alanna cursed. "This smells just like something the gods would do. And where on this gods-blessed land were you all this time, girl?"

Sathandra "Well, actually...er…it's a long story and umm quite unbelievable. Quite."

"I'd like to hear it. Anything the gods do is within my field of interest." Thom smiled evenly.

"Thom," Alanna growled, "were you eavesdropping? Wait. Forget I asked. Of course you were eavesdropping!"

"I wasn't eavesdropping. I just happened to overhear," Thom defended.

Alanna groaned. "Tell me you haven't been spending time with Gary."

"Uncle Gary," Thom defended "was very helpful in a lot of my research. Apparently, as Prime Minister, he has access to otherwise inexistent documents."

"Sometimes I think all my friends are touched by the Crooked God," Alanna mumbled wryly.

Sathandra lightly tugged on James' sleeve, "Who?"

"Huh? Oh, the Crooked God or Kyprioth is the patron god of the Copper Isles. Just like his name suggests, he is the god of crooked people...I mean people who do not take the…high road."

Alanna snorted in amusement, "Ha! You don't need to pretty up your words around us. I take no offense on behalf of those I know who are sworn to the Trickster…well, that is to say I don't really know for certain if they are but…"

"Ha!" Thom scoffed, "You'd have to be blind to not figure it out. My father spends a great deal of his time spreading the knowledge that the Crooked God imparts to this world."

Sathandra had just finished arranging her things in the tent assigned to her. Apparently the people in this universe only knew how to live in tents. And she had thought trailers were hard to live in.

"Cassandra?" It was Alanna.

"Here."

"May I enter?" Alanna asked uncertainly.

"Sure. What's up?" Sathandra unfolded herself from the crouching position she had assumed while fixing her clothes.

Alanna fidgeted, caught herself, and smiled wryly. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright," she laughed lightly and shook her head, "Look at me. Three children grown and I still feel strange asking."

Sathandra smiled. "No biggie."

Alanna laughed, "I take it you mean it's nothing. But it should be something. The Goddess told me to come to the Bazhir and somehow I don't really think it's all about Fireclaw anymore. You are god-touched. More so than others. I can feel it."

Sathandra shrugged. "Huh! I really don't understand anyone here. I don't even know why I'm here, so be my guest." She swept an arm out in a magnanimous gesture.

"You're just like your gods-blessed brother," Alanna observed with some amusement.

"Ha! As if. We are as alike as the day and the night."

"No. You really are alike. Trust me. I had a twin brother."

"Oh…had…Oh, I-Im sorry."

Alanna smiled painfully. "That's alright. I've had twenty years to get over it. Sometimes, it's not so bad anymore. We change."

Sathandra felt tears gather in her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Jered went missing just a month ago."

"Jered? I meant Jude. Your brother Jude Fireclaw? Oh gods! You don't know."

Sathandra shook her head.

"You have a brother, James's son. Jude Fireclaw, the Shang Griffin. Now that I think about it, you do look alike…"

"Wait wait. Is this an older brother we're talking about? Coz I don't think it's possible for him to be younger unless he is actually a half brother…"

"Oh he's definitely older than you are. He's about the same age as Thom. Gods, they fought like cats; the thought is still as funny as it was ten years ago. Don't look at me so disbelievingly! You see, Jude lost his—your mother so early and wanted to treat me as he would have his—your—gods this is confusing—anyway…_your_ mother. I believe it had something to do with his recollection that your mother has red hair as well. Children remember things like that. Anyway, he and Thom had what we like to call catfights. They _hissed_ and occasionally clawed at one another. And that is why Thom still insists on calling Jude the Shang Kitten. Your brother hates it. Last time I saw him, he nearly threw a fit when Thom called him that. Although, in my opinion, they actually do like each other in that strange way almost-brothers of nearly the same age do. You know, whenever Jude leaves with his father, Thom gets this lost look for a while. He probably misses their arguments. Jude was always smart enough to keep Thom on his toes; if he hadn't been chosen for the Shang, he would have made a good scholar."

"I think I'd like to meet this brother. He would have probably gotten along with Jered."

"I think I hear the call to dinner. Are you coming?" Alanna turned to leave and as she lifted the tent flap, she whispered so softly Sathandra had to strain to hear her, "I hope to the gods that you will find both of them."


	12. Sharpness Is a State of Mind

As I was writing these chapters, it occurred to me that I hadn't written anything remotely fictional in nearly a year. School work does have a way of sucking out one's creativity. But as I am on break right now, I will endeavor to get as much writing in as I can. I do hope you enjoy the next few chapters; I just hope that it doesn't look to obvious that I'm rusty and really out of practice.

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* * *

Chapter 12: Sharpness Is a State of Mind**

Sathandra wiped the sweat off her brow with the corner of her sleeve. The desert heat was making it impossible to practice her archery and her arms felt as if lead weights were attached to them. Taking a deep breath she took aim and let loose only for the arrow to end up a foot away from the target. She glared and shaded her eyes from the sun; the rays were blinding her. If only she had her trusty Ray Bans with her. Oh waitaminute! Gran had packed for her and she specifically remembered seeing a hair dryer at one point. If there was a hair dryer to be found then why not a pair of sunglasses. And besides Tarseela had known she was going to be in the desert for a while. It made perfect sense. Sathandra ran back to her tent, she felt her spirits rise and her step was more purposeful than it had been all day. Finally, some progress!

"Okay, here we go. Suntan lotion, swimsuit, goggles? What the—hairspray? Hair dryer. What the heck is all this stuff? Okay, Gran, this is totally weird. Sneakers—glad that's normal—alarm clock, triple A batteries, glue. Ohmygod! Chocolate!" Sathandra tore of the gold foil and avidly bit into heaven. "Mmm...there's nothing better than food for the soul. I love you Cadbury."

"Ehem!"

"Wha?" Sathandra turned her head to see Thom standing outside the opening to her tent. She imperiously raised an eyebrow. This dude was disturbing her quality time with Cadbury. "Oh it's just you. What do ya want?"

Thom eyed her warily. Somehow the beautiful lady's appearance belied a prickly nature. Interesting. "Ma is asking for you. She said to wear something comfortable that you won't regret getting dirty. That's all."

"Now?" Sathandra forlornly eyed the bar of chocolate in her hand. "B-but—" She sighed then covered it and placed it in a box. She didn't want the ants after it. Were there ants in the desert? Perhaps desert ants? Ah, nevermind! "Fine. Lead on, Mister."

"Are you sure what you're wearing is suitable?"

"Uh yeah? I was wearing this for archery practice. Come on let's go." Sathandra marched out into the scorching daylight.

Thom shrugged and followed her, easily keeping pace with her slightly shorter strides. "I have a feeling Ma is after something far more...messy."

"Messy's fine. But I have a feeling the word you're looking for is painful."

Thom shrugged again. "Messy, painful, same difference."

"Huh. I always wondered what that meant. What does it mean?"

Thom shrugged.

"Is that the only thing you can do? Shrug?"

Thom stopped mid-shrug, then shook his head. "I am not allowed to say anything that may irritate, anger, or scare you, lest I bring my mother's wrath down upon me, no disrespect meant to either one of you lovely ladies."

"Thank you, Thom. It was nice of you to compliment me in such an obviously begrudging way. For that I might just keep you in my will," Alanna wryly interrupted. Thom and Sathandra stopped walking as they stared at the assortment of odds and ends around the training ring. Sathandra paled and suddenly whirled around.

"Shitcrapdammit. I think I'll go back now—hey! Lemme go!" Sathandra fought Thom's surprisingly iron grip around her middle as she attempted to escape the evil torture thingamajigs. She tried pounding on the redhead mage's shoulder but that didn't seem to faze him at all. So, in her desperation, she did what she swore she would never do unless for self-defence—although honestly this probably counted—Sathandra jabbed him in a pressure point and he immediately dropped her like a hot coal.

"Oi, what was that for? I can't move my arm! That's cheating!"

Sathandra suddenly found herself wrapped in purple glowy things. "Hey! That's not fair either."

"An eye for an eye, milady."

"Fine! If that's the way you want it..." Sathandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sought out the green ball of energy with its golden flecks. There. Gathering strands of green and gold, she spun them together to reinforce them then, there was simply no other way to explain it but in her mind's eye, she simply blasted her way out.

Alanna had been silently watching this exchange, with a feeling that something important was about to be revealed. Her suspicions were justified when Thom suddenly blanched. The bands of purple magic he had wrapped around Cassandra were expanding as if some equally great force was pushing from the inside. Then the bands snapped and it was Thom who was suddenly encased in a glowing green light. Alanna involuntarily closed her hand upon the jewel around her neck and gasped when she saw the blindingly bright light around the younger woman. This girl was probably not only god-touched. She had the aura of a demigod. "I should have known," she murmured. Then clapping her hands together, she raised her voice and said, "That's enough for now, children. Cassandra, it's time for your lessons to begin."

Sathandra dropped her assault and groaned, "Did my father put you up to this?"

Alanna grinned. "Maybe. Although, to be honest, I think I'm going to enjoy this. The gods do love me after all."

"What if I say no?"

"You can't. I was sent here by a god, and they always have their way. So that means I am training you whether you want to learn or not."

"I'd go along with it if I were you. Accepting it as early as now will make it easier for your sanity," Thom advised.

"Fine! But only if," Sathandra paused for effect and smiled impishly, "Thom trains with my father as well."

"Done," Alanna said.

"What? Wait! You cannot just answer for me!"

"I can and I just did. The gods are on my side, remember. Now run along and relay my orders to James that you train with him." Alanna made a shooing motion with her hand and Thom reluctantly turned his back and trudged away from them, all the while muttering to himself. "I heard that Thom and I will find out if you disobey me." Thom turned his head and looked at her incredulously. "You think it even crossed my mind to rebel against this unjust cause." Alanna merely raised an eyebrow in answer, and Thom sighed dejectedly, "HOWEVER. I didn't decide not to do it." He continued to grumble petulantly till he disappeared from their line of vision.

"So shall we? Let's begin with the stretches. A flexible body is a great asset in all of the fighting arts."

Sathandra thought her teachers back on Earth had known what they were doing. And in a way they did. But none of them had possessed even a tenth of the knowledge and skill that the Lioness was attempting to teach her. She learned to depend upon her body as a weapon first before she was even allowed near anything resembling a weapon. And the first weapon placed in her hands had been a stick.

The days went by in a blur. Sathandra would occasionally see her father, but most of her time was given to her training. The Lioness set a relentless pace, and when Sathandra brought this matter up, the Lioness fixed her with an intense stare and asked, "How much time to train do we have exactly? A few months at most. That is all. And you must learn as much as I can teach you. Let it not be said that when it came down to it, the Lioness did not teach her pupil enough to survive. Because survival is everything, and you do not win unless you survive. Don't listen to what those fools say about dying and glory. There is no glory in dying. And as for honor?" She shrugged, "There is honor only when you have done everything in your power and it is still not enough. But I mean for it to be enough because you must live. The gods have their eyes on you. You will be a fulcrum that will change the balance of the world. What you do will decide whether you restore it or destroy it completely."

Sathandra had backed off then. Alanna's declaration had shaken her and suddenly she wasn't so sure about herself. What was she supposed to do? All these people talked of fighting and dying. She had never thought of these things when Gramps first put a weapon in her hand. She was an actress. Barely out of her teens and she had to save the world?

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Sathandra held the offending thing as far away as she could with both hands, knowing that if she took away one hand she would fall. "I'm supposed to practice the sword forms with this." She tried to hold up what seemed to be a sword—a very heavy sword. "This thing practically weighs more than me."

Alanna laughed. "It doesn't weigh more than you. And that's how I perfected my technique—with a sword nearly bigger than me. Of course, it should be easier for you. It's the same size as the one I used when I was a page and I am much shorter than you are."

"But I'm delicate!" Sathandra attempted to look pitiful and angelic at the same time.

Alanna only laughed harder. "Of course you are. You can hurl a spear farther than most men, but you're terrible at wrestling."

"Well, so are you," Sathandra retorted.

"But I'm good at everything else. Are you?"

"Hmph! Fine! I'll practice with it. But if my arms fall off, don't say I didn't warn you."

Alanna laughed and gave Sathandra a hearty pat on the back. Sathandra winced. "Don't worry. The pain starts to fade after the first few days."

"I was afraid you were going to say weeks," Sathandra muttered under her breath.

"Of course not. The pain starts to fade after the first few days then it starts all over again. We will continue our staff work. Then after that we have archery with different types of bows. Then there is fighting with the axe and different kinds of pole arms. THEN." Alanna rubbed her hands with glee. "We have jousting."

"Oh no. Oh no no no. Oh no no no no no. You have GOT to be kidding me!"


	13. Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Chapter 13: Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow**

Sathandra had been training with her father and the Lioness for two months when a summons arrived from King Jonathan, Alanna's liege lord. Apparently, there was only so much time before the Tortallan King needed his Champion back to see to his unruly vassals.

Alanna grumbled as she packed. Thom was to accompany her back to Corus. A delegation from Maren was arriving in a few days and the king wanted his Champion and her powerful mage of a son to be there to shower their guests with exclamations of intended goodwill and wishes of prosperity.

"I can't believe Jon needs me to babysit this ambassador whatever-his-name-is when he told me I had three months before I had to return to that blasted palace in time for Midwinter. Gods, I hate parties!" Alanna spoke with such loathing and vehemence that Sathandra took a few steps back. She had already been exposed to the heat of the Lioness's temper and did not wish for any of the said woman's attention at this point. Alanna had started cursing as soon as she saw the seal on the envelope. Her language only got more violent as she quickly perused its contents; and Sathandra could not help but wonder if any of the gods were watching and looking down from somewhere up above and laughing as if they were watching some drama gone wrong.

Thom however did not seem to have her sense of self-preservation, or maybe he was used to his mother's tempers, or maybe his senses had gone on leave. Because the next thing Sathandra knew, he was opening his sarcastic mouth. "Ma, I think this is the delegation that's sending the princess over."

Oh…so there was to be a princess involved eh? Alanna should have been expecting this then.

"What princess?" Or maybe not.

Still Thom's senses were on sick leave and he continued, "The one marrying Liam, of course." Well, he seems sure of it, Sathandra thought.

Alanna cursed so violently that Sathandra was VERY VERY much impressed. And I thought L.A. boys knew how to swear.

"When I get my hands on Jon, he will wish I laid hands on his scrawny neck that time he made me dance with the ambassador from Carthak. 'It's only common courtesy to rise above them even if they think women should be in shrouds and veils.' My foot. That-that _person_ who calls himself king is a _dead man_. A very. Dead. Man."

"You know, Ma, technically Uncle Jon doesn't have a scrawny neck and if you were anyone else, what you just said could be taken as treason."

"Thom, I am your mother and as your mother I require that you keep your opinions to yourself." Alanna was gritting her teeth so hard that Sathandra was surprised she could not hear them grinding together. Thom's senses had at last returned from their short vacation because he finally realized that it was high time that he shut up.

"Sathandra!" James was approaching the tent.

"Yes, Dad?" Sathandra turned to face her father with an eyebrow raised.

"I was just looking for you to tell you that we're leaving."

"What?"

"We are leaving the Bazhirs."

"Uh, _why_?"

"Because we're going to Westlake."

"Huh? Why?"

James patiently explained. "Every year Westlake holds a festival that causes people from different parts of the Eastern Lands and beyond to gather together. The event was actually started ten years ago when the current Grand Duke of Westlake took over. Since then it is where new talents are picked up by the Players, who some people know are astoundingly loyal to Westlake. You could say that when the Players are off-season, Westlake is where you'll find most of them."

"Uh-huh. And what does this have to do with us?"

"I am a Shang Warrior, and it is my duty to help keep the peace. And since this annual festival is one of the most popular events in the Eastern Lands, it is full of ostentatiously wealthy people. And where there are wealthy people, there are also the people who take from the wealthy people. Basically, we're on patrol duty. The roads to Westlake are probably lined with bandit groups and all the guards those nobles bring usually end up fighting against one another. It's a lot of work for the forces of Westlake. They do appreciate some help from time to time, so we're going to Westlake. Besides, I think you'll enjoy it and I think we'll meet a few friends along the way."


	14. When I First Saw You I Thought You Were

**Chapter 14: When I First Saw You, I Thought You Were Handsome. Then, of course, You Spoke**

The Bazhir had been left behind two days before and Sathandra was sick and tired of walking. Well, sure they got to tag along and ride at the back of some wagons from time to time. But so far their luck seemed rotten. Not one of those caravans had been heading towards Westlake and so they had been forced to go on foot for most of the way. Constant jogger or no, Sathandra missed her beloved Benz. Why didn't these people have better transportation systems? They had magic, for Pete's sake. Why couldn't they have subways or cars then?

"Dad?" Sathandra panted a she trudged on beside her father. Her feet hurt and she could almost swear her knees had lost feeling several kilometers ago.

"Yes, lass?" James hadn't even broken into a sweat. Sathandra felt like she had rolled in the dirt somewhere. She needed a bath—desperately. She glared at her father.

"I hate you."

"Oh, I hate you too, sweetheart." James smiled in amusement. Sathandra only glared harder. "Don't scrunch your face up so much; you'll get wrinkles early and who'd want to marry you then?"

"No, I mean I really hate you, Dad."

"Yes, I hate you too."

"Aww…forget it."

It really looked like James was getting the better end of the father-daughter thing. He really seemed to enjoy having a daughter to tease, but somehow forgot about the spoiling part. Instead, Sathandra had to get dragged along on his insane quest for peace and justice.

"Dad, I hate you."

James laughed. "I think I'd believe you more if you didn't say that every few minutes since we left that last merchant caravan."

Sathandra tried to cross her arms as she grumbled unfortunately she lost her balance and would have gone hurtling into the dirt if James hadn't caught her arm. Sathandra could feel that rare blush on her skin as she righted herself. James who had only been chuckling quietly before that was now doubled up from laughing so hard. There were actual tears in his eyes.

Sathandra exploded. "That's it. I am disowning you!" She pointed a menacing finger at her father. "You are disowned. Disowned!"

James tried to stop laughing and was partially successful. "Oh, come now sweetheart. You just remind me so much of your mother. You're just as funny as her. You even look like her when you scowl. I just couldn't help it. Had to see if you would react the same way if I poked you here and needled you there…."

Sathandra sighed. She'd thought as much. "Dad, I am not Mom. You are supposed to spoil me rotten not drag me from the desert to the tundra."

"We're not headed to the tundra. Westlake is situated in a great valley. It's green…and colorful."

"It's not working. You are still not forgiven." Sathandra pouted.

James sighed. "What I would give to have been able to see you grow up." He got misty-eyed.

"Dad," Sathandra warned, "not helping. Besides, I thought you Shang warriors were supposed to be tough guys. No crying for you."

"Ah, but that's what we'd like people to think. They wouldn't listen so well if they thought we were actually human. Most people don't even remember that a lot of Shang actually get married and have children."

"That explains a lot. You know, when you walk by it's almost like watching a TV episode where the jock passes through the high school corridor and the crowds part in front of him."

James looked at her blankly. "Uh, nevermind. It's one of those other world things. Maybe when we have a lot of time to sit down and talk, I can tell you all about it. I think you'd find it fascinating."

"I think I'd like that. You know, you really are very much like your mother. But much more clueless about this world and more in touch with that other one."

"I know right. And I'm supposed to be some savior and such. Go figure. The gods always have to pick the person who seems worst for the job."

"That's not true. Your swordsmanship is amazing in its progress. Your form is very good. You know it's hard to find people who are naturals; you're one of those rare things."

"Oh, thank you. I now feel like one of those specimens under study. And you're just trying to get on my good side again. What happened to—and I quote: 'You call that a swing? It looks more like you're swatting flies!' Hm?"

"I was goading you. You hit like a girl."

"Well, excuse me. But I happen to be one."

"I know that. But I also know that you can do better. Your mother was terrible at swordplay. From the very moment she put her hand on a sword, everyone knew that she was more likely to chop off the head of an ally in a fight. Of course, there are some of those who aren't naturals but learn to be so good that no one can tell the difference. The Lioness is one of those. Also, many who study the fighting arts will argue that because naturals are, well, naturals, they don't try as hard as those who aren't to excel. And that's where your training comes in. Now don't let it get to your head that just because you were born good at the sword, you don't need to work just as hard as those less fortunate in that respect. You need to work harder so that people can't complain that you beat them 'cause the gods granted you a boon. You understand?"

"Um, yeah ok. I guess…."

James shook his head and chuckled. "Is it all the strange air in that place you come from? Because I think the words yes and no have been removed from your vocabulary."

"You know, Dad. It's strange how you speak so proper. Like a noble."

"I have a gift for mimicry."

"No, I think it's more than that. So they have like speech coaches in the Shang?"

"Er—no. They don't. But I liked visiting the library there. They have some of the oldest records known to man. Some I think are old enough that they weren't even written by men."

"Um okay. But reading doesn't necessarily make you speak better."

"True. It just makes your mind more open to influences like those people from the University or nobles who speak proper-like."

"Is proper-like a word?"

"I just used it, didn't I?"

"Hey, don't change the subject! You were saying something about the University? What's _the University_?"

"The University I'm talking about is the one in Tortall. There's also one in Carthak which was also the original one. It's where a lot of scholars gather together and study things like old texts and the Gifted learn the limits of magic and things like that."

"Ah, so it's like one of our universities back home. But are all the people there Gifted?"

"Most of them, yes. There are some exceptions, like those with Wild Magic or other ambient Magics."

"So it's all people with magic."

"Yes, I think so."

"How'd you fall in with some of them then?"

"We Shang travel a lot and apparently so do some mages. They do research. So we met on one of my travels. I think it was in the mountains of Galla. They apparently took a liking to me, probably because they thought I didn't look as dangerous as other Shang."

"Well, you do look nice, Dad."

"Thank you, my dear, for trying to flatter your aging father."

"No it's true. And you're not exactly old. Or old-looking…Wait, just how old _are_ you?"

James smiled, "Older than a lot of Shang live to be. I think I have quite a few gods betting on me so they're keeping me alive at the moment."

But it really was true. If James Fireclaw had been in Hollywood he would have been classified as one of the world's hottest men. And he and Kat, her mother, would be like one of Hollywood's most beautiful couples. He had dark brown hair—a shade slightly darker than hers—the trademark Sathandra tan that people hailed as golden skin (apparently she got it from her dad), and the face of Adonis. Not to mention he was built from all that training and fighting. So yeah. He looked nice. Boy, was that ever an understatement.

Now that she thought about it, they probably looked like some film stars in one of those surviving-in-the-wilderness movies where they're chased by mobsters, wild animals, and other kinds of shit until finally they reach paradise and tada! Happy ending. Of course, no one actually believes that shit, but still they pay millions just to see Brad and Angie doing just that or was that Jurassic Park. Oh god…s, she really needed a life!


End file.
